LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 


DAVIS 


VASSAL!   MOETON. 


BY 


FRANCIS    PARKMAN, 

AUTHOR    01    "HISTORY    OP    THE    CONSPIRACY    OF    PONTIAC,"    AND    « PRAIRIE    AND 
ROCKY    MOUNTAIN    LITE." 


Ecrive  qui  voudral    Chacun  &  ce  m&tler, 

Pent  perdre  impunfiment  de  1'encre  et  du  papier. 

BOILEAU. 


BOSTON: 

PHILLIPS,   SAMPSON  AND   COMPANY. 
1856. 


LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  Year  1856,  by 

PHILLIPS,  SAMPSON  AND  COMPANY, 
In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


STEREOTYPED    AT    THB 
BOSTON     STEREOTYPE    FOUNDRY. 


CHAPTER   I. 

Remote  from  towns  he  ran  his  godly  race.  —  Goldsmith. 

"MACKNIGHT  ON  THE  EPISTLES, —  that's  the  name  of 
the  book?" 

"  Yes,  sir,  if  you  please.  I  am  desirous  of  consulting  it 
with  a  view " 

"  Well,  this  way,  Mr.  Jacobs.  Here's  the  librarian.  Mr. 
Stillingfleet,  let  me  introduce  my  friend,  the  Reverend  Mr. 
Jacobs,  of  West  Weathersfield." 

"  I  am  proud  to  make  your  acquaintance,  sir,"  said  Mr. 
Jacobs,  taking  the  librarian's  hand  with  an  air  of  diffident 
veneration. 

"  Mr.  Jacobs  wishes  to  consult  Mackwright  on  the  Epistles." 

"  Macknight,  if  you  please,  Dr.  Steele." 

"  O,  Macknight.  Will  you  be  so  kind  as  to  let  him  have 
the  use  of  it  in  my  name  ?  " 

"  If  you  will  go  with  Mr.  Rubens,  sir,"  said  the  librarian, 
"he  will  show  you  the  book." 

(3) 


4  VASSALL    MOKTON. 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  replied  Mr.  Jacobs,  to  whom  the  words 
were  addressed ;  and  he  followed  the  assistant  among  the 
alcoves  in  a  timid,  tiptoe  progress,  for,  to  him,  the  very  air  he 
breathed  seemed  redolent  of  learning,  and  the  dust  beneath 
his  feet  consecrated  to  science. 

Dr.  Steele  remained  behind,  conversing  with  the  libra 
rian. 

"  My  friend  has  something  of  the  ancient  apostolic  sim 
plicity  hanging  about  him  still.  He  looks  with  as  much  awe 
at  Harvard  College  library  as  I  did  myself  forty-five  years  ago, 
when  I  came  down  from  Steuben  to  join  the  freshman  class." 

"  So  you  came  from  Steuben !  Did  not  old  John  Morton 
come  from  the  same  place  ?  " 

"  To  be  sure  he  did.  He  was  the  glory  of  the  town.  He 
pulled  down  the  old  clapboard  meeting  house  that  his  father 
used  to  preach  in,  and  built  a  new  one  for  him :  besides  giv 
ing  a  start  in  business  to  half  the  young  men  of  the  village." 

"  Do  you  see  that  undergraduate  at  the  end  of  the  hall, 
standing  by  the  last  alcove,  reading  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  what  about  him  ?  He  seems  a  hardy,  good-looking 
young  fellow  enough." 

"  He  is  John  Morton's  son." 

"  Is  it  possible  ?  I  remember  him  when  he  was  a  child, 
but  have  not  seen  him  for  these  ten  years.  After  his  father's 
death,  his  mother  took  him  to  Europe,  to  be  educated ;  but 
she  never  came  back ;  she  died  in  Paris." 

"  He  is  Mr.  Morton's  only  child  —  is  he  not  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  his  first  wife  had  no  children ;  and  after  he  had 
buried  her,  —  which,  by  the  way,  I  believe  was  the  happiest 


VASSALL   MOBTON.  5 

hour  of  his  life, — he  married  a  very  different  sort  of  person, 
Margaret  Vassal!,  this  boy's  mother." 

"  What,  one  of  the  old  Vassall  race  ?  " 

"  Exactly ;  and,  I  suppose,  the  last  survivor.  I  used  to 
know  her.  She  was  a  handsome  woman,  and,  bating  her 
family  pride,  altogether  a  very  fine  character.  She  managed 
her  husband  admirably." 

"  Why,  what  need  had  John  Morton  of  being  managed  ? " 

"  0,  Morton  was  a  noble  old  gentleman,  a  merchant  of  the 
old  school,  and  generous  as  the  day ;  but  he  had  his  faults. 
He  made  nothing  of  his  three  bottles  of  Madeira  at  dinner, 
and  besides Ah,  Mr.  Jacobs,  so  you  have  found  Mac- 
knight." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Jacobs,  coming  up,  "  I  have  the  vol 
umes." 

"See  that  young  man,  yonder.  That's  the  son  of  your  old 
friend,  Mr.  Morton." 

"  Really  !  upon  my  word  !  Ah  !  Mr.  Morton  was  a  friend 
to  me,  sir  —  a  very  kind  friend." 

And,  in  the  simplicity  of  his  heart,  Mr.  Jacobs  glided  up 
to  the  student,  and  blandly  accosted  him. 

"  How  do  you  do,  young  gentleman  ?  I  knew  your  worthy 
father.  I  knew  him  well.  I  have  often  sat  at  his  hospitable 
board  on  anniversary  week." 

Thus  addressed,  Vassall  Morton  looked  up  from  his  book, 
—  it  was  Froissart's  Chronicle,  —  inclined  his  head  in  ac 
knowledgment,  and  waited  to  hear  more. 

"  Ahem !  "  coughed  Mr.  Jacobs,  a  little  embarrassed :  "  your 
father  was  a  most  worthy  and  estimable  gentleman :  a  true 
1* 


'  6  VASSALL    MORTON. 

friend  of  the  feeble  and  destitute.  Ahem !  —  what  class  are 
you  in,  Mr.  Morton?  " 

"  The  junior  class,"  said  the  young  man,  a  suppressed  smile 
flickering  at  the  corner  of  his  mouth. 

"  Ahem  !  I  hope,  sir,  that,  like  your  father,  you  will  long 
live  to  be  an  honor  to  your  native  town." 

"  Thank  you,  sir." 

"  I  wish  you  good  morning." 

"  Good  morning,  sir,"  said  Morton,  divided  between  an  in 
clination  to  smile  at  the  odd,  fumble  little  figure  before  him, 
and  an  unwillingness  to  wound  the  other's  feelings.  • 

"  Are  you  ready  to  go,  Mr.  Jacobs  ?  "  said  Dr.  Steele. 

"  If  you  please,  sir,  we  will  now  take  our  departure ;  "  — 
gathering  the  four  volumes  of  Macknight  on  the  Epistles 
under,  his  arm  ;  —  "  Good  morning,  Mr.  Stillingfleet ;  good 
morning,  Mr.  Rubens.  I  am  indebted  to  your  kindness,  gen 
tlemen  —  ahem !  " 

"  This  is  the  way  out,  Mr.  Jacobs,"  said  Steele  to  his  diffi 
dent  friend  from  West  Weathersfield,  who,  in  his  embarrass 
ment,  was  going  out  at  the  wrong  door. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  sir  —  ahem!"  replied  Mr.  Jacobs, 
with  a  bashful  smile.  And  Dr.  Steele,  pointing  to  the  true 
exit,  ushered  his  rustic  and  reverend  protege  from  the  sacred 
precinct  of  learning. 


CHAPTER   II. 

Ricbt  bardie  baith  in  ernist  and  pl&j.  —  Sir  David  Lyndsay. 

"  MORTON,  what  was  the  little  old  fogy  in  the  white  cravat 
saying  to  you  just  now  in  the  library  ?  " 

"  Telling  me  that  my  father  was  a  worthy  man,  and  that  he 
hoped  I  should  make  just  such  another." 

"  Ah,  that  was  kind  of  him." 

"  What  a  pile  of  books  you  are  lugging !  Here,  let  me 
take  half  a  dozen  of  them  for  you.  You  look  as  if  you  were 
training  to  be  a  hotel  porter." 

"  I  am  laying  in  for  vacation." 

"What  sense  is  there  in  that?  Let  alone  your  Latin, 
Greek,  and  mathematics ;  what  the  deuse  is  vacation  made 
for  ?  Take  to  the  woods,  as  I  do,  breathe  the  fresh  air,  and 
see  the  world  at  large." 

"  Do  you  call  it  seeing  the  world  at  large,  to  go  off  into 
some  barbarous,  uninhabitable  place,  among  mosquitoes, 
snakes,  wolves,  bears,  and  catamounts  ?  What  sense  is  there 
in  that?  What  can  you  do  when  you  get  there?  " 

"Shoot  muskrats,  and  fish  for  mudpouts.  Will  you  go 
with  me?" 

"  Thank  you,  no.  There's  no  one  in  the  class  featherwitted 
enough  to  go  with  you,  except  Meredith,  and  he  ought  to 
know  better."  (7) 


8  VASSALL    MORTON. 

"  Stay  at  home,  then,  and  improve  your  mind.  I  shall  be 
off  to-morrow." 

"Alone?" 

"Yes." 

Mr.  Horace  Vinal  shrugged  his  shoulders,  a  movement 
which  caused  Sophocles  and  Seneca  to  escape  from  under  his 
arm.  Morton  gathered  them  out  of  the  mud,  and  thrusting 
them  back  again  into  their  place,  left  his  burdened  fellow- 
student  to  make  the  best  of  his  way  towards  his  den  in 
Stoughton  Hall. 


CHAPTER   III. 

0,  love,  in  such  a  wilderness  as  this !  —  Gertrude  of  Wyoming. 

MOKTON,  e?i  route  for  the  barbarous  districts  of  which 
Vinal  had  expressed  his  disapproval,  stopped  by  the  way  at  a 
spot  which,  though  wild  enough  at  that  time,  had  ceased  to 
be  a  wilderness.  This  was  the  Notch  of  the  White  Moun 
tains,  perverted,  since,  into  a  resort  of  quasi  fashion.  Here, 
arriving  late  at  the  lonely  hostelry  of  one  Tom  Crawford,  he 
learned  from  that  worthy  person,  to  whom  his  face  was  well 
known,  that  other  guests,  from  Boston,  like  himself,  were 
seated  at  the  tea  table.  Accordingly,  descending  thither,  he 
saw  four  persons.  The  first  was  a  quiet-looking  man,  with 
the  air  of  a  gentleman,  and  something  in  his  appearance  which 
seemed  to  indicate  military  habits  and  training.  Morton  re 
membered  to  have  seen  him  before.  At  his  side,  and  under 
his  tutelary  care,  sat  two  personages,  who,  from  their  dimen 
sions,  must  have  been  boys  of  some  seven  years  old,  but  from 
the  solemnity  of  their  countenances,  might  have  passed  for  a 
brace  of  ancient  philosophers.  They  looked  so  much  alike 
that  Morton  thought  he  saw  double.  Each  was  seated  on  a 
volume  of  Clark's  Commentaries,  to  raise  his  chin  to  the 
needful  height  above  the  table  cloth.  Both  were  encased  in 
tunics,  strapped  about  them  with  shining  morocco  belts. 

(9) 


10  VASSALL    MORTON. 

Their  small  persons  were  terminated  at  one  end  by  morocco 
shoes  of  somewhat  infantile  pattern,  and  at  the  other  by 
enormous  heads,  with  chalky  complexions,  pale,  dilated  eyes, 
wrinkled  foreheads,  and  mouths  pursed  up  with  an  expression 
of  anxious  care,  abstruse  meditation,  and  the  most  experi 
enced  wisdom. 

In  amazement  at  these  phenomena,  Morton  .turned  next 
towards  the  fourth  member  of  the  party;  and  here  he  en 
countered  a  new  emotion,  of  a  kind  quite  'different.  Hitherto, 
in  his  college  seclusion,  he  had  not  very  often  met,  except  in 
imagination,  with  that  union  of  beauty,  breeding,  and  refine 
ment  which  belongs  to  the  best  life  of  cities,  and  which  he 
now  saw  in  the  person  of  a  young  lady,  a  year  or  two  his 
junior.  He  longed  for  a  pretext  to  address  her,  but  found 
none  ;  when  her  father  —  for  such  he  seemed  —  broke  si 
lence,  and  accosted  him. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon ;  is  it  possible  that  you  are  the  son  of 
John  Morton?" 

"Yes." 

"  He  was  my  father's  old  friend.  I  thought  I  could 
scarcely  mistake  your  likeness  to  your  mother." 

"  I  believe  I  have  the  pleasure  of  speaking  to  Colonel 
Leslie." 

Leslie  inclined  his  head. 

"  My  title  clings  to  me,  I  find,  though  I  have  no  right  to 
it  now." 

He  had  left  the  army  long  before,  exchanging  the  rough 
frontier  service  for  pursuits  more  to  his  taste. 

"  Upon  my  word,"  pursued  Leslie,  "  after  conversing  for 


VASSALL    MORTON.  11 

some  time  with  the  new  comer  on  the  scenery  and  game  of 
the  mountains,  "  you  seem  to  be  aufait  at  this  sort  of  thing." 

"  At  least  I  ought  to  be ;  I  have  spent  half  my  college  va 
cations  here." 

"  It  is  unlucky  for  us  that  we  must  set  out  for  home  in  the 
morning.  You  might  have  given  us  good  advice  in  our  sight 
seeing." 

"  Crawford  will  tell  you  that  I  am  tolerably  well  qualified 
to  be  a  guide." 

"  You  do  not  look  like  a  collegian.  They  are  generally 
thin  and  pale  with  studying." 

"  Oftener  with  laziness  and  cigar  smoke." 

"  Very  likely.  You  seem  too  hardy  and  active  for  a  stu 
dent." 

Morton's  weak  point  was  touched. 

"  I  can  do  well  enough,  I  believe,  in  that  way.  Crawford 
was  boasting,  last  year,  that  he  could  outwrestle  any  man  in 
New  England.  I  challenged  him,  and  threw  him  on  his  back." 

"You !     Crawford  is  twice  as  heavy  and  strong  as  you  are." 

"  I  am  stronger  than  I  seem,"  replied  Morton,  with  great 
complacency. 

And  Leslie,  observing  him  with  an  eye  not  unused  to  meas 
ure  the  thews  and  sinews  of  men,  saw  that,  though  his  frame 
was  light,  and  his  shoulders  not  broad,  yet  his  compact  pro 
portions,  deep  chest,  and  muscular  limbs,  showed  the  highest 
degree  of  bodily  vigor. 

"  You  are  quite  right.  I  would  enlist  you  without  asking 
the  surgeon's  advice." 

Here  the  nurse,  attendant  on  the  two  philosophers,  ap- 


12  VAS8ALL   MOETON. 

peared  at  the  door ;  and  they,  obedient  to  the  mute  summons, 
scrambled  gravely  from  their  seats,  and,  with  solemn  steps, 
withdrew.  Miss  Leslie  presently  followed,  and  Morton  and 
her  father  were  left  alone. 

"  You  are  from  Harvard  —  are  you  not  ? " 

«  Yes." 

"  Do  you  know  Horace  Vinal  ? " 

"  Very  well ;  he  is  my  classmate." 

"  Is  he  not  thought  a  very  promising  young  man  ? " 

"  He  is  our  first  scholar." 

"  I  hear  him  spoken  of  as  a  young  man  of  fine  abilities." 

"  And  he  knows  how  to  make  the  best  of  them." 

"  Not  at  all  dissipated." 

"  Not  at  all." 

"  And  a  great  student." 

"  Digs  day  and  night." 

"  A  little  ambitious,  I  suppose." 

"A  little." 

"  But  very  prudent." 

"  Uncommonly  so." 

"  An  excellent  young  man,"  exclaimed  Leslie ;  "  I  think 
very  highly  of  Horace  Vinal." 

Morton  cast  a  sidelong  glance  at  him,  and  there  was  a  cov 
ert  smile  in  his.  eye.  He  began  to  see  a  weak  spot  in  his 
companion. 

"  He  will  certainly  make  his  way  in  the  world,"  pursued 
Leslie. 

"  No  doubt  of  it." 

"He  is  not  so  fond  of  out-door  exercises  as  you  seem 
to  be." 


VASSALL    MORTON.  13 

"  He  is  good  at  one  kind  of  exercise." 

"  What's  that  ?  " 

"  He  can  draw  the  long  bow." 

Leslie  did  not  see  Morton's  meaning,  and  took  the  words 
literally,  as  the  latter  intended  he  should. 

"  What,  have  you  an  archery  club  at  college  ?  " 

"  No  ;  but  there  are  one  or  two  among  us  who  use  the 
long  bow,  now  and  then,  and  Vinal  beats  them  by  all  odds. 
But  he  is  very  modest  on  the  subject,  and  never  alludes  to  it. 
In  fact,  there  are  very  few  who  know  his  skill  in  that  way." 

"  It  is  all  the  better  for  his  health  to  have  some  amusement 
of  the  kind." 

"  Yes,  it  would  be  a  pity  if  his  health  should  suffer." 

"I  have  often  thought  that  his  mind  was  too  active  for  his 
constitution." 

Morton  cast  another  sidelong  look  at  Leslie.  Though  he 
admired  the  daughter,  he  refrained  with  difficulty  from  quiz 
zing  the  father. 

"  You  seem  to  know  Vinal  very  well." 

"  Yes,  thoroughly ;  I  have  known  him  from  childhood  ; 
he  is  the  son  of  my  wife's  sister,  and  I  am  his  guardian.  I 
watch  his  progress  with  great  interest." 

"  You  will  see  him,  I  dare  say,  reach  the  top  of  the  ladder. 
At  least,  it  will  be  no  fault  of  his  if  he  does  not." 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  hear  my  good  opinion  of  him  confirmed 
by  one  who  has  seen  so  much  of  him." 

And,  rising,  he  left  tke  room. 

"  A  very  good  young  man,  this  seems  to  be,"  he  thought 
to  himself,  as  he  did  so. 
2 


14  VASSALL   MORTON. 

"  Amiable,  good  natured,  and  all  that ;  but  very  soft,  for  a 
man  who  has  seen  hard  service,"  thought  Morton,  on  his  part. 

The  party  reassembled  in  the  inn  parlor.  Masters  William 
and  Marlborough,  having  gained  a  reprieve  from  their  banish 
ment,  busied  themselves  at  the  table,  the  one  in  poring  over 
Brewster  on  Natural'  Magic,  the  other  in  solving  a  problem 
of  Euclid.  Leslie  viewed  these  infant  diversions  by  no  means 
with  an  eye  of  favor,  and  soon  banished  the  students  to  a 
retirement  more  suited  to  their  tender  years.  The  sentence 
overcame  all  their  philosophy,  and  they  were  carried  off 
howling. 

Morton,  meanwhile,  was  breathing  a  charmed  air;  and 
though  diffident  in  the  presence  of  ladies,  and  not  liberally 
endowed  by  nature  with  the  gift  of  tongues,  his  zeal  to  com 
mend  himself  to  the  good  opinion  of  Miss  Edith  Leslie 
availed  somewhat  to  supply  the  defect.  He  had  never  mixed 
with  the  world,  conventionally  so  called,  and  knew  as  much 
of  ladies  as  of  mermaids.  But  having  an  ardent  tempera 
ment  and  a  Quixotic  imagination ;  being  addicted,  moreover, 
to  Froissart  and  kindred  writers  ;  and,  indeed,  visited  with  a 
glimmering  of  that  antique  light  which  modern  folly  despises, 
he  would  have  been  ready,  with  the  eye  of  a  handsome  wo 
man  upon  him,  for  any  rash  and  ridiculous  exploit.  This 
extravagance  did  him  no  manner  of  harm.  On  the  contrary, 
it  went  far  to  keep  him  out  of  mischief ;  for  in  the  breast  of 
this  youngster  a  chivalresque  instinct  battled  against  the  ur 
gency  of  vigorous  blood,  and  taught  his  nervous  energies  to 
seek  escape  rather  in  ceaseless  bodily  exercises,  rowing,  riding, 
and  the  like,  than  in  any  less  commendable  recreations. 


VASSALL    MORTON".  15 

The  close  of  the  evening  found  him  with  an  imagination 
much  excited.  In  short,  decisive  symptoms  declared  them 
selves  of  that  wide-spread  malady,  of  which  he  had  read 
much  and  pondered  not  a  little,  but  which  had  not,  as  yet, 
numbered  him  among  its  victims.  Among  the  various  emo 
tions,  novel,  strange,  and  pleasurable,  which  began  to  possess 
him,  came,  however,  the  dismal  consciousness  that,  with  the 
morning  sun,  the  enchantress  of  his  fancy  was  to  vanish  like 
a  dream  of  the  night. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

What  pleasure,  sir,  find  we  in  life,  to  lock  it 
Prom  action  and  adrenture  ?  —  Oymbdine. 

MORNING  came,  and  the  Leslies  departed.  Morton 
watched  the  lumbering  carriage  till  it  disappeared  down  the 
nigged  gorge  of  the  Notch,  then  drew  a  deep  breath,  and 
ruefully  betook  himself  to  his  day's  sport.  He  explored,  rod 
in  hand,  the  black  pools  and  plunging  cascades  of  the  Saco ; 
but  for  once  that  he  thought  of  the  trout,  he  thought  ten 
times  of  Edith  Leslie. 

Towards  night,  however,  he  returned  with  a  basket  reason 
ably  well  filled  ;  and,  as  he  drew  near  the  inn,  he  saw  a 
young  man,  of  his  own  age,  or  thereabouts,  sitting  under  the 
porch.  He  had  a  cast  of  features  which,  in  a  feudal  country, 
would  have  been  taken  as  the  sign  of  noble  birth ;  and 
though  he  wore  a  slouched  felt  hat  and  a  rough  tweed  frock, 
though  his  attitude  was  careless,  though  he  held  between  his 
teeth  a  common  clay  pipe,  at  which  he  puffed  with  much  rel 
ish,  and  though  he  was  conversing  on  easy  terms  with  two 
attenuated  old  Vermont  farmers,  with  faces  like  a  pair  of 
baked  apples,  —  yet  none  but  the  most  unpractised  eye  would 
have  taken  him  for  other  than  a  gentleman. 

As  soon  as  Morton  saw  him,  he  shouted  a  joyful  greeting, 

(16) 


VASSALL    MORTON.  17 

to  which  Mr.  Edward  Meredith,  rising  and  going  to  meet  his 
friend,  replied  with  no'less  emphasis. 

"  I  thought,"  said  Morton,  "  that  you  meant  to  do  the  du 
tiful  this  time,  and  stay  with  your  father  and  family  at  the 
sea  shore." 

"  Couldn't  stand  the  sea  shore,"  said  Meredith,  seating 
himself  again ;  "  so  I  came  up  to  the  mountains  to  see  what 
you  were  doing." 

"  You  couldn't  have  done  better ;  but  come  this  way,  out 
of  earshot." 

"  Colonel,"  said  Meredith,  in  a  tone  of  melancholy  remon 
strance,  "  this  seat  is  a  good  seat,  an  easy  seat,  a  pleasant 
seat.  Why  do  you  want  to  root  me  up  ?  " 

"  Come  on,  man,"  replied  Morton. 

"  Show  the  way,  then,  Jack-a-lantern.  But  where  do  you 
want  to  lead  me  ?  I  won't  sit  on  the  rail  fence,  and  I  won't 
sit  on  the  grass." 

"  There's  a  bench  here  for  you." 

"  Has  it  a  back  ?  " 

"  Yes,  it  has  a  back.     There  it  is." 

Meredith  carefully  removed  a  few  twigs  and  shavings  which 
lay  upon  the  bench,  seated  himself,  rested  his  arm  along  the 
back,  and  began  puffing  at  his  pipe  again.  But  scarcely  had 
he  thus  composed  himself  when  the  tea,  bell  rang  from  the 
house. 

"Do  you  hear  that,  now  ?  Another  move  to  make ! 
Didn't  I  tell  you  so  ?  " 

"  Not  that  I  remember." 

"  Please  to  explain,  colonel,  what  you  expect  to  gain  by 

2* 

• 


18  VASSALL    MORTON. 

always  bobbing  about  as  you  do,  like  a  drop  of  quick 
silver." 

"  To  hear  you,  one  would  take  you  for  the  laziest  fellow  in 
the  universe." 

"  There's  reason  in  all  things.  I  keep  my  vital  energies 
against  the  time  of  need,  instead  of  wasting  them  in  unne 
cessary  gyrations.  Ladies  at  the  table  !  New  Yorkers  in 
full  feather,  or  I'll  be  shot !  Now,  what  the  deuse  have  lace 
and  ribbons  to  do  in  a  place  like  this  ?  " 

During  the  meal,  the  presence  of  the  strangers  was  a  check 
upon  their  conversation. 

"  Crawford,"  said  Meredith,  when  it  was  over,  "  have  you 
had  that  sofa  taken  into  my  room  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"And  the  arm  chair?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  And  the  candles  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  All  right.     Now,  then,  colonel,  aUofis" 

The  name  of  colonel  was  Morton's  college  sobriquet. 
Meredith  led  the  way  into  a  room  which  adjoined  his  bed 
chamber,  and  which,  under  his  direction,  had  assumed  an  air 
of  great  comfort.  Morton  took  possession  of  the  sofa ;  his 
friend  of  the  arm  chair. 

"What's  the  word  with  you  ?"  began  the  latter;  "are 
you  bound  for  the  Adirondacks,  the  Margalloway,  or  the 
Penobscot  ? " 

"  To  the  Margalloway,  I  think.  You  mean  to  go  with  me, 
I  hope." 


VASSALL   MORTON.  19 

"  To  the  Margalloway,  or  the  antipodes,  or  any  place  this 
side  of  the  North  Pole." 

"  Then,  if  you  say  so,  we'll  set  off  to-morrow." 

"  Gently,  colonel.  One  day's  fishing  here.  We  have  six 
weeks  before  us.  What  sort  of  thing  is  that  that  you  are 
smoking?  " 

"  Try,  and  judge  for  yourself,"  said  Morton,  handing  his 
cigar  case.  Meredith  took  a  sample  of  its  contents  between 
his  fingers,  and  examined  it  with  attention. 

"  I  always  thought  you  were  a  kind  of  heathen,  and  now 
I  know  it.  Where  did  you  pick  up  that  cigar  ?  " 

"  Do  you  find  it  so  very  had  ?  " 

"  It  would  not  poison  a  man,  and  perhaps  might  pass  for  a 
little  better  than  none  at  all.  But  nobody  except  a  pagan 
would  touch  it  when  any  thing  better  could  be  had." 

"  I  forgot  to  bring  any  from  town,  and  had  to  supply^  my 
self  on  the  way." 

"  That  goes  to  redeem  your  character.  Fling  those  away, 
or  give  them  to  the  landlord ;  I  have  plenty  of  better  ones. 
But  a  pipe  is  the  best  thing  at  a  place  like  this,  and  especially 
at  camp,  in  the  woods." 

"  So  I  have  often  heard  you  say." 

"  Mine,  though,  made  a  sensation,  not  long  ago." 

"  How  was  that  ?  " 

"  The  whole  brood  of  the  Stubbs,  bag  and  baggage,  passed 
here  this  afternoon." 

"  Thank  Heaven  they  did  not  stop." 

"  They  came  in  their  private  carriage.  I  nodded  to  Ben, 
and  touched  my  hat  to  Mrs.  S.  You  should  have  seen  their 
faces.  They  thought  there  must  be  something  out  of  joint 


20  VASSALL    MORTON. 

in  the  mechanism  of  the  universe,  when  a  person  of  their 
acquaintance  could  be  seen  smoking  a  pipe  at  a  tavern  door, 
like  a  bog- trotting  Irishman." 

"  You  should  have  asked  Ben  to  go  with  us." 

"  It  would  be  the  worst  martyrdom  the  poor  devil  ever 
had  to  pass  through.  Ben  seemed  displeased  with  the  sce 
nery.  He  says  that  the  White  Mountains  are  nothing  to  any 
one  who,  like  himself,  has  seen  the  Alps." 

"  Pray  when  did  Stubb    see  the  Alps  ?  " 

"  O,  the  whole  family  have  seen  the  Alps,  —  the  Alps, 
Italy,  the  Rhine,  the  nobility  and  gentry,  and  every  thing  else 
that  Europe  affords.  They  all  swear  by  Europe,  and  hold 
the  soil  of  America  dirt  cheap.  You  can  see  with  half  an 
eye  what  they  are  —  an  uncommonly  bad  imitation  of  an  in 
different  model." 

"  Let  them  pass  for  what  they  are  worth.  Have  you  come 
armed  and  equipped  —  rifle,  blanket,  hatchet,  and  so  forth  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  I  have  brought  an  oil  cloth  tent." 

"So  much  the  better ;  it  is  more  convenient  than  a  birch 
bark  shanty." 

"  I  give  you  notice  that  I  mean  to  take  my  ease  in  that 
tent." 

"  I  hope  you  will." 

"  One  can  be  comfortable  in  the  woods,  as  well  as  else 
where.  Remember,  colonel,  that  we  are  out  for  amusement, 
and  not  after  scalps.  Last  summer,  you  drove  ahead,  rain 
or  shine,  through  thickets,  and  swamps,  and  ponds,  as  if  you 
were  on  some  errand  of  life  and  death.  For  this  once,  have 
mercy  on  frail  humanity,  and  moderate  your  ardor." 

Morton  gave  the  pledge  required.     They  passed  the  even- 


VASSALL    MORTON.  21 

ing  in  arranging  the  details  of  their  journey,  set  forth  and 
spent  three  or  four  weeks  in  the  forest  between  the  settled 
districts  of  Canada  and  Maine,  poling  their  canoe  up  lonely 
streams,  meeting  no  human  face,  but  smoking  their  pipes  in 
great  contentment  by  their  evening  camp  fire.  They  chased 
a  bear,  and  lost  him  in  a  windfall ;  killed  two  moose,  six 
deer,  and  trout  without  number ;  and  underwent,  with  exem 
plary  patience,  a  martyrdom  of  midges,  black  flies,  and  mos 
quitoes.  And  when,  at  last,  they  turned  their  faces  home 
ward,  they  wiled  the  way  with  plans  of  longer  journeyings, 
—  more  bear,  more  moose,  more  deer,  more  trout,  more 
midges,  black  flies,  and  mosquitoes. 


CHAPTER  V. 

Youth  on  the  prow,  and  Pleasure  at  the  helm ; 
Begardless  of  the  sweeping  whirlwind's  sway, 
That,  hushed  in  grim  repose,  expects  his  evening  prey.  —  Gray. 

IT  was  a  week  before  "  class  day,"  —  that  eventful  day 
which  was  virtually  to  close  the  college  career  of  Morton  and 
his  contemporaries.  The  little  janitor,  commonly  called 
Paddy  O'Flinn,  was  ringing  the  evening  prayer  bell  from  the 
cupola  of  Harvard  Hall,  —  its  tone  was  dull  and  muffled, 
some  graceless  sophomore  having  lately  painted  it  white,  in 
side  and  out,  —  and  the  students  were  mustering  at  the 
summons.  The  sedate  and  the  gay,  the  tender  freshman  and 
the  venerable  senior,  the  prosperous  city  beau  and  the  awk 
ward  country  bumpkin,  one  and  all  were  filing  from  their 
respective  quarters  towards  the  chapel  in  University  Hall. 
The  bell  ceased  ;  the  loiterers  quickened  their  steps  ;  the  last 
belated  freshman,  with  the  dread  of  the  proctor  before  his 
eyes,  bounded  frantically  up  the  steps  ;  and  for  a  brief  space 
all  was  silence  and  solitude.  Then  there  was  a  murmuring, 
rushing  sound,  as  of  a  coming  tempest,  and  University  Hall 
disgorged  its  contents,  casting  forth  the  freshmen  and  juniors 
at  one  door,  and  the  sophomores  and  seniors  at  the  other. 

Of  these  last  was  Morton,  who,  with  three  or  four  of  his 

class,  walked  across  the  college  yard,  towards  the  great  gate- 

(22) 


VASSALL   MOETON.  23 

way.  By  his  side  was  a  young  man  named  Rosny,  carelessly 
dressed,  but  with  a  lively,  dare-devil  face,  and  the  look  of  a 
good-natured  game  cock. 

"  I  shall  be  sorry  to  leave  this  place,"  said  Morton  ;  "I  like 
it.  I  like  the  elms,  and  the  gravel  walks,  arid  the  scurvy  old 
brick  and  mortar  buildings." 

"  Then  I  am  not  of  your  mind,"  said  Rosny  ;  "  gravel  or 
mud,  brickbats  or  paving  stones,  they  are  the  same  to  me,  the 
world  over.  Halloo,  Wren,"  to  a  mustachioed  youth  who 
just  then  joined  them  ;  "  we  are  bound  to  your  room." 

"  That's  as  it  should  be.     But  where  are  the  rest? " 

"Coming  —  all  in  good  time;  here's  one  of  them." 

A  dapper  little  person  approached,  with  a  shining  beaver, 
yellow  kid  gloves,  a  switch  cane,  and  a  very  stiff  but  some 
what  dashing  cravat,  surmounted  by  a  round  and  rubicund 
face. 

"Ah,  Chester!"  exclaimed  Wren;  "the  very  man  we 
were  looking  for.  Come  and  take  a  glass  of  punch  at  my 
room." 

"  Punch,  indeed  !  "  replied  Chester,  whose  face  had  changed 
from  a  prim  expression  to  one  of  great  hilarity  the  moment 
he  saw  his  friends  —  "  no,  no,  gentlemen,  I  renounce  punch 
and  all  its  works.  The  pure  unmixed,  the  pure  juice  of  the 
grape  for  me." 

"  But,  Chester,"  urged  Wren,  "  won't  the  pure  mountain 
dew  be  a  sufficient  inducement  ?  " 

"  The  good  company  will  be  a  sufficient  inducement,"  said 
Chester,  waving  his  hand,  —  "  the  good  company,  gentlemen, 
—  and  the  good  liquor.  But  what  have  we  here  ?  Meredith 


24  VASSALL    MOBTON. 

and  Vinal  walking  side  by  side.  Good  Heavens,  what  a  con 
junction  !  " 

The  objects  of  Chester's  astonishment,  on  a  nattering  invi 
tation  from  Wren,  joined  the  party,  which,  however,  was 
weakened  by  the*  temporary  secession  of  Rosny,  who,  plead 
ing  an  errand  in  the  village,  left  them  with  a  promise  to  re 
join  them  soon.  His  place  was  in  a  few  moments  more  than 
supplied  by  a  new  party  of  recruits,  among  whom  was  Stubb. 
Arrived  at  Wren's  room,  the  desk  and  other  appliances  of 
study  were  banished  from  the  table ;  bottles  and  glasses 
usurped  their  place,  and  the  company  composed  themselves 
for  conversation,  most  of  them  permitting  their  chairs  to 
stand  quietly  on  all  fours,  though  one  or  two,  like  heathen 
Yankees  from  the  backwoods,  forced  them  to  rear  rampant  on 
the  hind  legs,  the  occupant's  feet  resting  on  the  ledge  over 
the  fireplace. 

A  few  minutes  passed,  when  a  quick,  firm  step  came  up  the 
stairs,  and  Rosny  entered. 

"  How  are  you  again,  Dick  ?  "  said  Meredith. 

"  Good  evening,  Mr.  Rosny,"  echoed  Stubb,  who  sat 
alone  on  the  window  seat. 

"Eh?  what's  that?"  demanded  Rosny,  turning  sharp 
round  upon  the  last  speaker,  with  a  face  divided  between  in 
dignation  and  laughter. 

"  I  said,  *  Good  evening,'  "  replied  Stubb,  much  discon 
certed. 

"  And  why  didn't  you  say, '  Good  morning,'  yesterday,  eh  ? 
—  when  I  met  you  in  Boston,  eh  ?  He  gave  me  the  cut  di 
rect,"  turning  to  the  company.  "  Mr.  Benjamin  Stubb,  here, 


VASSALL    MORTON.  25 

gave  me  the  cut  direct !  It  was  the  pepper-and-salt  coat  and 
the  thunder-and-lightning  breeches  that  Stubb  couldn't  think 

of  bowing  to  when  he  was  walking  in Street,  with  a 

lady.  Look  here,  Stubb,"  —  again  facing  the  victim, — 
"  what  do  you  take  me  for  ?  and  what  the  devil  do  you  take 
yourself  for  r  I  know  your  dirty  family  history.  Your 
grandfather  was  a  bricklayer,  and  the  Lord  knows  who  your 
great  grandfather  was.  The  best  Huguenot  blood  of  France 
runs  in  my  veins  !  My  ancestors  were  fighting  at  Ivry  and 
Jarnac,  while  yours  were  peddling  coal  and  potatoes  about 
London  streets,  or  digging  mud  in  a  ditch,  for  any  thing  you 
or  I  know  to  the  contrary."  Stubb  gasped.  "  Your  father 
has  a  crest  painted  on  his  carriage  ;  but  where  did  he  get  it  ? 
Why,  Cribb,  the  engraver,  stole  it  for  him  out  of  the  British 
peerage." 

Stubb,  who  was  weak  and  timorous,  here  rose  in  great  con 
fusion,  muttered  something  about  conduct  unbecoming  to  a 
gentleman,  and  meaning  to  require  an  explanation,  and  ab 
ruptly  left  the  room. 

"  That  job  is  finished,"  said  Rosny,  composedly  seating 
himself.  "  His  bill  is  settled  for  him." 

"  But,  Dick,"  said  Morton,  who  had  been  laughing  in  his 
sleeve  during  the  scene,  "  do  you  want  to  be  considered  as  a 
Frenchman  or  an  American  ?  " 

"I'm  an  American,"  answered  Rosny « — "an  American 
and  a  democrat,  every  inch." 

Rosny  had  adopted  democratic  principles  and  habits  parti  y 
out  of  spite  against  the  class  to  which  Stubb  belonged,  and 
which  he  was  pleased  to  designate  as  the  "  codfish  aristoc- 
3 


26  VASSALL    MOKTON. 

racy,"  and  partly  because  he  thought  that  he  could  thus  most 
effectually  gain  the  ends  of  his  impatient,  hankering  ambition. 
His  ancestor,  the  head  of  an  eminent  Huguenot  race,  had 
been  driven  to  America  by  the  persecutions  which  followed 
the  revocation  of  the  edict  of  Nantes.  The  family  had  lived 
ever  since  in  poverty  and  obscurity  ;  yet  this  fiery  young  dem 
ocrat  nourished  an  inordinate  pride  of  birth,  and  never  forgot 
that  he  was  descended  from  a  line  of  warlike  nobles. 

"  No,  no,"  said  Rosny,  as  Morton  pushed  a  glass  towards 
him,  "  drinking  is  against  my  rule  —  Well,  as  it's  about  the 
last  time,"  — filling  the  glass,  —  "  here's  to  you  all." 

"  The  last  time  ! "  said  Morton ;  "  that's  a  dismal  word. 
If  my  next  four  years  are  as  pleasant  as  these  last  have  been, 
I  will  never  complain  of  them." 

"  I  tell  you,  boys,"  said  Meredith,  who  was  tranquilly  puff 
ing  at  his  cigar,  "  the  cream  of  our  lives  is  skimmed  already. 
Rough  and  tumble,  hurry  and  worry  —  that  will  be  the  story 
with  most  of  us,  more  or  less,  to  the  end  of  our  days." 

"  Rough  and  tumble  !  "  exclaimed  Rosny ;  "  so  much  the 
better.  '  Scots  play  best  at  the  roughest  game  '  —  that's  just 
my  case.  Who  wants  to  be  always  paddling  about  on  smooth 
water  r  Close  reefed  topsails,  a  gale  astern,  and  breakers  all 
round — that's  the  game." 

"  Every  one  to  his  taste,"  said  Chester,  shrugging  his 
shoulders.  "  I  suppose  a  salamander  loves  the  fire,  but  I 
don't.  '  The  race  of  ambition '  — '  the  unconquerable  will ' 
—  pshaw!  Cui  lonol  One  chases  after  his  object,  and 
when  he  has  got  it,  he  turns  from  it,  and  chases  another.  I 
profess  the  philosophy  of  Horace  —  enjoy  the  hour  as  it  flies. 


VASSALL    MORTON. 


27 


Ah !  he  was  a  model  man,  a  man  after  my  own  heart,  a  gen 
tleman  and  a  man  of  the  world.  He  could  drink  his  Faler- 
nian,  and  thank  the  gods  for  their  gifts." 

Rosny  whispered  in  Morton's  ear,  "  Chester  ought  to 
have  been  born  a  century  ago,  among  the  John  Bulls,  up  in 
the  cockloft  of  Brazen  Nose  College,  or  some  such  antedilu 
vian  hole." 

In  spite  of  these  derogatory  remarks,  Chester,  besides 
being  one  of  the  best  scholars  in  the  class,  was  noted  for  a 
social,  jovial  disposition,  which,  though,  like  Fluellen's  valor, 
a  little  out  of  fashion,  made  him  a  general  favorite. 

"  Speaking  of  the  next  four  years,"  said  Wren,  "  I  wonder 
what  plans  each  of  us  has  made  for  that  time.  For  my  part,  I 
have  no  plan  at  all,  and  should  be  glad  to  profit  by  the  sugges 
tions  of  the  rest.  Come,  Chester,  what  do  you  mean  to  do  ?  " 

"  Expatiate,"  said  Chester,  expanding  his  hands,  and  there 
by  revealing  an  odd  little  antique  ring  which  he  wore  ;  "  take 
mine  ease,  roaming,  like  the  bee,  from  blossom  to  blossom. 
I  will  leave  the  earnest  men  —  bah  !  —  the  men  with  a  mis 
sion  —  to  grub  on  in  their  vocation.  I  will  renounce  this 
land  of  cotton  mills  and  universal  suffrage.  First  for  Paris, 
to  walk  the  Boulevards,  and  go  to  the  masked  balls  and  the 
opera;  —  vive  la  bagatelle!  —  then  for  Rome,  to  saunter 
through  the  Vatican  and  the  picture  galleries,  —  but  not  to 
moralize  with  a  long  face  over  fallen  grandeur,  and  the  muta 
bility  of  human  affairs.  No,  no,  gentlemen,  I  belong  to  an 
other  school  of  philosophy.  I  will  sit  among  the  ruins  of  the 
Forum,  and  laugh,  like  Democritus,  at  the  image  of  Death. 
Then  I  will  recreate  myself  at  Capri,  like  the  Caesars  before 


28  VASSALL    MOItTON. 

me  ;  then  eiijoy  the  dolcefar  niente  at  Florence,  and  read  the 
Tuscan  poets  in  the  shades  of  Vallombrosa." 

"  But,  Chester,"  interposed  Wren,  "  don't  you  ever  mean 
to  marry  and  settle  down  ?  " 

"  I  object  to  that  phrase,  '  settle  down.'  It  calls  up  disa 
greeable  images.  It  reminds  one  of  the  backwoods,  log  cab 
ins,  men  in  shirt  sleeves,  and  piles  of  pine  boards  and  lumber. 
Yes,  certainly,,  I  mean  to  many.  What  man  of  taste  would 
leave  matrimony  out  of  his  scheme  of  life  ?  One  likes  to 
gather  his  treasures  round  him,  his  pictures,  his  vases,  and 
statues  ;  and  how  can  he  adorn  his  rooms  with  an  ornament 
more  exquisite  —  where  can  he  find  a  piece  of  furniture  more 
charmingly  moulded —  than  a  beautiful  woman?  " 

This  flourish,  between  jest  and  earnest,  he  pronounced 
with  a  graceful  wave  of  his  hand. 

"  If,  when  you  have  married  your  beautiful  woman,"  said 
Morton,  "  you  find  you  have  caught  a  Tartar,  it  will  serve  you 
right." 

"Hear  him,"  said  Chester;  "hear  the  barbarian.  He  will 
ahvays  be  conjuring  up  some  image  of  disquiet.  *  Rest,  rest, 
perturbed  spirit.'  " 

"He  could  not  rest,  if  he  tried,"  said  Horace  Vinal. 

"  No,  he  is  one  of  those  unfortunates  who  lie  under  a  sen 
tence  of  endless  activity.  It  is  a  disease,  with  which  men 
are  afflicted  for  the  sins  of  their  ancestors ;  and  for  the  sins 
of  mine  I  was  born  among  a  whole  nation  of  such.  Perpet 
ual  motion,  bustle  and  whirl,  —  I  grow  dizzy  to  think  of  it. 
They  cannot  rest  themselves,  and  will  not  let  any  one  else 
rest.  Always  pursuing,  always  doing,  never  enjoying.  A 


VASSALL    MORTON.  29 

true  American  cannot  enjoy.  He  would  build  a  steam  saw 
mill  in  Arcadia,  and  dam  up  the  four  rivers  of  Paradise  for 
cotton  factories." 

"  But,  Chester,"  said  Wren,  "  that  is  not  at  all  like  Mor 
ton;  you  know  he  hates  utilitarianism." 

"  Yes,  but  still  he  cannot  rest.  He  would  not  build  saw 
mills  and  dams  ;  but  he  would  be  sure  to  fire  his  rifle  at  some 
of  Adam's  live  stock,  and  set  all  Eden  by  the  ears.  Come, 
Morton,  I  have  told  the  company  my  plans.  Let  us  hear 
what  yours  are." 

"  My  guardian  wishes  me  to  enter  the  law  school." 

"  You  are  twenty-one  now,"  said  Vinal,  "  and  can  do  as 
you  please." 

Vinal  was  a  very  tall  and  slender  young  man,  with  a 
strongly  marked  face,  though  thin  and  pale  ;  a  grave,  thought 
ful  eye,  and  compressed  lips,  expressing  a  kind  of  nervous 
self-control.  His  dress  was  very  elaborate  and  scrupulous, 
though  without  the  smallest  trace  of  foppery.  He  was  less 
popular  in  the  class  than  Morton,  but  had  the  reputation  of 
greater  talents.  This  he  owed,  perhaps,  to  his  habitual  re 
serve  ;  for  every  one  thought  that  he  understood  Morton 
thoroughly,  while  few  pretended  to  fathom  the  silent  and  self- 
contained  Vinal. 

"  I  should  like  well  enough  to  study  law,"  was  Morton's 
non-committal  answer. 

"  I  thought,  Morton,  that  you  were  more  of  a  philosopher. 

Here  you  are,  a  young  fellow,  full  of  blood,  and  worth  half 

a  million,  and  yet  you  speak  of  buckling  down  to  the  law. 

That  is  all  well  enough  for  poor  dogs  like  me,  who  go  into 

3* 


30  VASSALL    MORTON. 

the  mill  from  necessity.  We  drudge  on  for  twenty  years  or 
more,  till  we  have  scraped  together  a  competency,  or  some 
thing  better,  perhaps,  and  then  we  find  that  we  have  for 
gotten  how  to  enjoy  it.  We  have  grown  so  used  to  harness 
that  we  are  good  for  nothing  out  of  it,  and  sacrifice  body  and 
soul  to  our  profession.  You  have  reached  already  the  point 
that  we  are  straining  for.  The  world  is  all  before  you,  man ; 
launch  out  and  enjoy  yourself." 

"  Didn't  you  just  say,"  asked  Rosny,  "  that  Morton  couldn't 
rest,  if  he  tried?" 

"  I  said  he  could  not  rest,  but  I  did  not  say  he  could  not 
enjoy  himself.  Look  at  him :  his  cheek  is  ruddier  and 
browner  than  any  of  us.  Nobody  would  believe  that  a  fellow 
like  that  was  not  made  to  enjoy  life.  I  know  Morton.  He 
could  roam  from  blossom  to  blossom,  as  Chester  says,  with  as 
good  a  will  as  any  body.  He  has  an  eye  for  the  fair  sex,  cor 
rect  as  he  is  at  present.  He  knows  a  pretty  face  from  a  plain 
one.  The  devil  -will  catch  him  yet  with  a  black  eye  and  a 
rosy  cheek." 

"  Then,"  said  Morton,  "  he  will  show  his  good  opinion  of 
my  taste." 

Rosny,  who  had  his  own  reasons  for  disliking  Vinal,  here 
broke  in  without  ceremony,  — 

"Be  gad,  Vinal,  he  will  bait  his  hook  differently  when  he 
fishes  for  you." 

"  How  will  that  be,  Dick  ?  "  said  Meredith. 

"  With  a  five  dollar  bank  note,  and  a  lying  puff  in  a  news 
paper  ;  and  Vinal  will  jump  at  it  like  a  mackerel  at  a  red  rag." 

Vinal  laughed,  but  with  a  bad  grace. 


VASSALL    MORTON.  31 

"  Riches  and  fame ! "  said  Chester,  anxious  to  smooth 
away  all  traces  of  irritation —  "  riches  and  fame  !  I  call  those 
legitimate  objects  of  pursuit ;  and  the  black  eye  is  positively 
praiseworthy.  Come, , Morton,  let  us  hear  your  plan.  You 
have  not  told  it  yet." 

"  I  defer  to  Rosny  —  he  is  my  senior.  Dick,  some  ten  or 
twelve  years  from  this,  I  suppose  I  shall  vote  against  you  for 
the  presidency." 

"  Thank  you.  By  that  time  you  will  have  no  whig  party 
left  to  vote  with.  The  democrats  will  have  it  all  their  own. 
way." 

"  I  have  often  wondered  what  could  have  induced  a  driving 
man  of  the  world  like  you  to  come  to  college  at  all.  You 
have  been  here  more  than  a  year ;  and  in  the  same  time, 
with  your  previous  knowledge,  you  might  have  learned  as 
much  any  where  else  at  half  the  cost.  You  are  not  the  fel 
low  to  regard  a  degree  of  A.  M.  with  superstitious  venera 
tion." 

"  You  are  right  there,  colonel.  I  am  of  no  kith  nor  kin  to 
some  of  your  New  England  old  fogies,  who  would  give  their 
souls  for  a  D.  D.  or  an  LL.  D.  —  and  get  it,  too,  though 
they  know  no  more  Greek  or  Hebrew  than  I  know  of  Chot- 
taw,  and  can  barely  manage  to  stumble  along  through  the 
Latin  Testament.  What's  a  piece  of  sheep's  skin  to  me  ? 
Humbug  is  the  current  coin  all  the  world  over,  and  just 
as  much  in  this  free  and  enlightened  country  as  any  where 
else.  I  have  schemes  on  foot,  —  not  political,  —  no  matter 
what  they  are,  —  out  in  the  western  country  ;  and  I  happen 
to  know  that  a  degree  from  Harvard  University  is  the  medi- 


32  VASSALL    MORTON. 

cine  that  suits  my  case  ;  with  that  for  my  credentials,  I  shall 
carry  it  over  all  competitors.  Yes,  boys,  gammon  is  the 
word  ;  and  the  man  who  would  rise  in  the  world  must  use 
the  stepping  stones." 

"  You're  a  victim  of  the  national  disease,  Rosny,"  said 
Chester.  "  Rising  in  the  world  !  —  that's  the  idea  that  ruins 
us.  It's  that  that  makes  us  lean,  starveling,  nervous,  rest 
less,  dyspeptic,  hypochondriac,  —  the  most  prosperous  and 
most  uncomfortable  people  on  earth.  Sit  down,  man,  and 
take  your  ease.  What  garden  will  thrive  if  every  plant  in  it 
must  be  dug  up  every  day,  and  set  out  in  a  better  place  ?  " 

"  Ah,  that's  good  doctrine  for  you.  You  have  got  nothing 
to  gain,  and  a  good  deal  to  lose.  Stand  up  for  the  status  quo, 
old  boy ;  I  would,  in  your  place.  Look  at  me,  though.  I 
was  cut  adrift  at  fourteen,  —  parents  dead,  —  not  a  cent  in 
my  pocket,  —  and  since  then  I  have  tumbled  along  through 
the  world  as  I  could.  You  can't  kill  me.  I  have  more  lives 
than  a  cat.  I  have  been  thrown  on  my  back  a  dozen  times  ; 
but  the  harder  I  was  flung  down,  the  higher  I  bounced  up 
again.  Why,  I  have  known  the  time  when  I  was  glad  to 
earn  a  shilling  by  shovelling  snow  off  a  sidewalk.  I  have 
tried  my  hand  at  every  thing,  —  printer's  work,  lecturing, 
politics,  editing,  keeping  school, —  and  do  you  suppose  I 
shall  be  content  to  rest  in  the  mud  all  my  days  ?  Not  a  bit 
of  it.  -  I  know  my  cue  better.  The  time  will  come  when 
you'll  see  me  shooting  up  like  a  rocket." 

Here  a  broad  glare  against  the  window  interrupted  him, 
and,  looking  out,  his  auditors  saw  a  bonfire  blazing  with  pe 
culiar  splendor  under  the  windows  of  the  chamber  where  the 


VASSALL    M011TON.  33 

Faculty  were  at  that  moment  in  solemn  session.  Three  proc 
tors  and  a  tutor  were  hastening  towards  the  scene  of  outrage, 
when  a  stentorian  voice  from  the  adjacent  darkness  roared 
forth  a  warning  that  there  was  a  canister  of  gunpowder  in 
the  fire  expected  every  moment  to  explode.  The  prudent 
officers  therefore  kept  their  distance,  busying  themselves  with 
noting  down  the  names  of  several  innocent  spectators,  while 
the  bonfire  subsided  to  a  natural  death,  the  gunpowder  hoax 
having  perfectly  succeeded. 

Mr.  Wren's  guests  resumed  their  seats,  mingling  with 
graver  matters  the  usual  badinage  of  a  college  gathering; 
and  when  at  length  they  separated,  only  a  lonely  light  or  two 
glimmered  from  among  the  many  windows  of  the  academic 
barracks  which  overlook  the  college  green. 


CHAPTER   VI. 


As  if  with  Heaven  a  bargain  they  had  made 
To  practise  goodness  —  and  to  be  well  paid, 
They,  too.  devoutly  as  their  fathers  did, 
Sin,  sack,  and  sugar,  equally  forbid ; 
Holding  each  hour  uupardonably  spent 
That  on  the  leger  leaves  no  monument.  —  Pars 


MR.  ERASTTJS  FLINTLOCK  sat  at  his  counting  room,  in  his 
old  leather-bottomed  arm  chair.  Vassall  Morton,  his  newly 
emancipated  ward,  just  twenty-one,  stood  before  him,  the 
undisputed  master  of  his  father's  ample  wealth. 

"  What,  no  profession,  Mr.  Morton  ?    None  whatever,  sir  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,  none  whatever." 

The  old  man's  leathery  countenance  expressed  mingled 
wrath  and  concern. 

Flintlock  was  a  stanch  old  New  Englander,  boasting  him 
self  a  true  descendant  of  the  Puritans,  whose  religious  tenets 
he  inherited,  along  with  most  of  their  faults,  and  not  a  few 
of  their  virtues.  He  was  narrow  as  a  vinegar  cruet,  and  just 
in  all  his  ^dealings.  There  were  three  subjects  on  which  he 
could  converse  with  more  or  less  intelligence  —  politics,  theol 
ogy,  and  business.  Beyond  these,  he  knew  nothing  ;  and 
except  American  history  and  practical  science,  he  had  an  in 
distinct  idea  that  any  thing  more  came  of  evil.  He  distrusted 
a  foreigner,  and  abhorred  a  Roman  Catholic.  All  poetry,  but 

(34) 


VASSALL    MOBTON.  35 

Milton  and  the  hymn  book,  was  an  abomination  in  his  eyes ; 
and  he  looked  upon  fiction  as  an  emanation  of  the  devil.  To 
the  list  of  the  cardinal  virtues  he  added  another,  namely, 
attention  to  business.  In  his  early  days,  he  had  come  from 
his  native  Connecticut  with  letters  to  Morton's  father,  who, 
seeing  his  value,  took  him  as  a  clerk,  placed  unbounded  trust 
in  him,  and  at  last  made  him  his  partner.  He  was  a  youth 
of  slow  parts,  solid  judgment,  solemn  countenance,  steady 
habits,  and  a  most  unplialaie  conscience.  He  had  no  follies, 
allowed  himself  no  indulgences,  and  could  enjoy  no  other 
pleasures  than  business  and  church-going.  He  attended  ser 
vice  morning,  afternoon,  and  evening,  and  never  smiled  on 
Sundays.  His  old  age  was  as  upright  and  stiff-necked  as 
might  have  been  augured  from  such  a  youth.  He  thought 
the  rising  generation  were  in  a  very  bad  way,  and  once  gave 
his  son  a  scorching  lecture  on  vanity  and  arrogance,  because 
the  latter,  who  had  been  two  years  at  college,  very  modestly 
begged  to  be  excused  from  carrying  a  roll  of  sample  cotton,  a 
yard  and  a  half  long,  from  his  father's  store  at  one  end  of  the 
town,  to  the  shop  of  a  retail  dealer  at  the  other. 

"  What,  no  profession,  Mr.  Morton  ?  " 

"  None  whatever,  sir." 

Morton  was  prepared  for  the  consequence  of  these  fatal 
words,  and  sought  to  arm  himself  with  the  needful  patience. 
It  would  be  folly,  he  knew,  to  debate  the  point  with  his 
guardian,  who  was  tough  and  unmanageable  as  a  hickory 
stump  ;  who  would  never  see  any  side  of  a  question  but  his 
own,  and  on  whose  impervious  brain  reasons  fell  like  rain 
drops  on  a  tarpauline.  Flintlock,  therefore,  opened  fire  unan- 


36  VASSALL    MORTON. 

swered,  and  discoursed  for  a  full  hour  on  duty,  propriety,  and 
a  due  respect  for  what  he  called  the  general  sense  of  the 
community,  which,  as  he  assured  his  auditor,  demands  that 
every  one  should  have,  some  fixed  and  stated  calling,  by  which 
he  may  be  recognized  as  a  worthy  and  useful  member  of  so 
ciety.  Sometimes  he  grew  angry,  and  scolded  his  ward  with 
great  vehemence  ;  then  subsided  into  a  pathetic  strain,  and 
exhorted  him,  for  the  sake  of  his  excellent  father,  not  to  grow 
old  in  idleness  and  frivolity.  Morton,  respectful,  but  obdu 
rate,  heard  him  to  an  end,  assured  him  that,  though  renoun 
cing  commerce  and  the  professions,  his  life  would  by  no 
means  be  an  idle  one,  thanked  him  for  his  care  of  his  prop 
erty,  and  took  his  leave  ;  while  the  old  merchant  sank  back 
into  his  chair,  and  groaned  dismally,  because  the  son  of  his 
respected  patron  wras  on  the  road  to  perdition. 

A  moment's  retrogression  will  explain  the  young  man's 
recusancy. 

On  a  May  evening,  some  two  months  before  the  close  of 
his  college  career,  Morton  sat  in  lonely  meditation  on  a 
wooden  bench,  by  the  classic  border  of  Fresh  Pond.  By 
every  canon  of  polite  fiction,  his  meditation  ought  to  have 
been  engrossed  by  some  object  of  romantic  devotion  ;  but  in 
truth  they  were  of  a  nature  wholly  mundane  and  sublunary. 

He  had  been  much  exercised  of  late  upon  the  choice  of  a 
career  for  his  future  life.  He  liked  none  of  the  professions 
for  itself,  and  had  no  need  to  embrace  it  for  support.  He 
loved  action,  and  loved  study ;  was  ambitious  and  fond  of 
applause.  He  had,  moreover,  enough  of  the  American  in  his 
composition  never  to  be  happy  except  when  in  pursuit  of 


VASSALL    MOKTON.  37 

something ;  together  with  a  disposition  not  very  rare  among 
young  men  in  New  England,  though  seldom  there,  or  else 
where,  joined  to  his  abounding  health  and  youthful  spirits  — 
a  tendency  to  live  for  the  future,  and  look  at  acts  and  things 
with  an  eye  to  their  final  issues. 

Thierry's  Norman  Conquest  had  fallen  into  his  hands  soon 
after  he  entered  college.  The  whole  delighted  him  ;  but  he 
read  and  re-read  the  opening  chapters,  which  exhibit  the 
movements  of  the  various  races  in  their  occupancy  of  the 
west  of  Europe.  This  first  gave  him  an  impulse  towards 
ethnological  inquiries.  He  soon  began  to  find  an  absorbing 
interest  in  tracing  the  distinctions,  moral,  intellectual,  and 
physical,  of  different  races,  as  shown  in  their  history,  their 
mythologies,  their  languages,  their  legends,  their  primitive 
art,  literature,  and  way  of  life.  The  idea  grew  upon  him  of 
devoting  his  life  to  such  studies. 

Seated  on  the  wooden  bench  at  the  edge  of  Fresh  Pond, 
he  revolved,  for  the  hundredth  time,  his  proposed  scheme,  and 
summed  up  what  he  regarded  as  its  manifold  advantages.  It 
would  enable  him  to  indulge  his  passion  for  travel,  lead  him 
over  rocks,  deserts,  and  mountains,  conduct  him  to  Tartar 
tents  and  Cossack  hovels,  make  him  intimate  with  the  most 
savage  and  disgusting  of  barbarians  ;  in  short,  give  full  swing 
to  his  favorite  propensities,  and  call  into  life  all  his  energies 
of  body  and  mind.  In  view  of  this  prospect,  he  clinched  his 
long- cherished  purpose,  devoting  himself  to  ethnology  for  the 
rest  of  his  days. 

He  had  a  youthful  way  of  thinking  that  any  resolution 
deliberately  adopted  by  him  must  needs  be  final  and  conclu- 
4 


38  VASSALL    MORTON. 

give,  and  was  fully  convinced  that  his  present  determination 
was  a  species  of  destiny,  involving  one  of  three  results  —  that 
he  should  meet  an  early  death,  which  he  thought  very  likely ; 
that  he  should  be  wholly  disabled  by  illness,  which  he  thought 
scarcely  possible ;  or  that,  in  the  fulness  of  time,  say  twenty 
or  twenty-five  years,  his  labors  would  have  issue  in  some  pro 
digious  work,  redounding  to  his  own  honor  and  the  un 
speakable  profit  of  science. 


CHAPTER   VII. 

'Tis  a  dull  thing  to  travel  like  a  mill  horse, 

Still  in  the  place  he  was  born  in,  round  and  blinded. 

Beaumont  and  Fletcher. 

A  NOVEL-MAKER  may  claim  a  privilege  which  his  betters 
must  forego.  So,  in  the  teeth  of  dramatic  unities,  let  the 
story  leap  a  chasm  of  some  two  years. 

Not  that  the  void  was  a  void  to  Morton.  His  nature 
spurred  him  into  perpetual  action  ;  but  his  wanderings  were 
over  at  length;  and  he  and  Meredith  sat  under  the  porch 
of  Morton's  house,  a  few  miles  from  town.  The  features  of 
the  latter  were  swarthy  from  exposures,  while  those  of  his 
friend  were  somewhat  pale,  and  had  the  expression  of  one 
insufferably  bored. 

"  Colonel,  you  are  the  luckiest  fellow  I  know.  Here  you 
have  been  following  the  backbone  of  the  continent  from  Da- 
rien  to  the  head  of  the  Missouri,  mixing  yourself  up  with 
Spaniards  and  Aztecs,  poking  sticks  into  the  crater  of  Popo- 
catapetl,  and  living  hand  and  glove  with  Blackfeet  and  Assin- 
naboins,  while  I  have  been  doing  penance  among  bonds  and 
mortgages,  and  title  deeds  and  leases.  My  father  has  thrown 
up  responsibility  and  gone  to  Europe  —  and  so- has  every 
body  else  —  and  left  all  on  my  shoulders." 

"Your  time  will  come." 

(39) 


40  VASSALL    MOKTOX. 

"  I  hope  so." 

"  But  what  news  is  there  ?  " 

"  Nothing." 

"  What,  nothing  since  I  went  away?  " 

"  The  old  story.  You  know  it  as  well  as  I.  Now  and 
then,  a  new  engagement  came  out.  Mrs.  A.  approved  it,  and 
Mrs.  B.  didn't ;  and  then  characters  were  discussed  on  both 
sides.  Something  has  been  said  of  the  balls,  the  opera,  and 
what  not ;  with  the  usual  talk  about  the  wickedness  of  the 
democrats  and  the  fanaticism  of  the  abolitionists." 

"  You  appear  to  have  led  a  gay  life." 

"  Very  !  —  we  need  a  war,  an  invasion,  —  something  of  the 
sort.  It  would  put  life  into  us,  and  rid  us  of  a  great  deal  of 
nonsense.  You  were  born  with  a  stimulus  in  yourself,  and 
can  stand  this  stagnant  sort  of  existence ;  but  I  need  some 
thing  more  lively." 

"  Then  go  with  me  on  my  next  journey." 

"  Are  you  thinking  of  another  already  ?  Rest  in  peace, 
and  thank  Heaven  that  you  have  come  home  in  a  whole  skin." 

"  I  have  done  the  North  American  continent ;  but  there 
are  four  more  left,  not  to  mention  the  islands." 

"  And  you  mean  to  see  them  all  ?  " 

"  Certainly." 

"  Your  science  is  a  convenient  hobby.  It  carries  you  wher 
ever  you  fancy  to  go." 

"  You  could  not  do  better  than  go  with  me." 

"  I  know  it ;  but,  if  wishes  were  horses I  am  train 
ing  Dick  to  take  my  place.  I  am  a  model  elder  brother  to 
that  youngster  in  the  way  of  cultivating  his  mind  and  morals  ; 


VASSALL    MORTON.  41 

and  when  I  have  him  up  to  the  mark,  I  shall  gain  a  year's 
furlough  for  my  pains.  But  when  is  your  next  journey  to 
begin  —  next  week  ?  " 

"  No,  I  mean  to  pin  myself  down  here,  and  dig  like  a  mole, 
for  the  next  ten  months,  at  least." 

'*  If  I  had  not  had  ocular  proof  of  what  a  determined  dig 
you  can  be,  I  should  set  down  your  studies  as  mere  hum- 
bug." 

"  But  I  wish  to  hear  the  news." 

"  I  would  tell  it  willingly,  if  I  knew  any." 

"  Have  the  Primroses  come  home  from  Europe  yet? " 

"Yes." 

"  And  the  Everills  ?  " 

"I  believe  not." 

"  Nor  the  Leslies,  I  suppose." 

"  For  a  reasonably  sensible  and  straightforward  fellow,  you 
have  a  queer  way  of  making  inquiries.  You  question  like  a 
lady's  letter,  with  the  pith  in  the  postscript.  You  ask  after  the 
Primroses  and  the  Everills,  a  stupid,  priggish  set,  for  whom 
you  care  nothing,  as  earnestly  as  if  you  were  in  love  with 
them,  and  then  grow  indifferent  when  you  come  to  the  Les 
lies,  whom  you  like." 

"Did  I?"  said  Morton,  in  some  discomposure;  "I  ask 
their  pardon.  Have  they  come  home  ?  " 

"  Not  yet,  but  I  believe  they  mean  to  come  as  soon  as  they 
have  staid  their  year  out." 

"And  that  will  be  very  soon  —  early  in  the  spring,  or 
sooner." 

"  Now  I  think  of  it,  I  made  the  acquaintance,  a  few  even- 
4* 


42  VASSALL    MORTON. 

ings  ago,  of  a  person  who,  I  believe,  is  a  relation  or  connec 
tion  of  yours  —  Miss  Fanny  Euston." 

"  O,  yes,  she  is  my  third,  fourth,  or  fifth  cousin,  or  some 
thing  of  that  sort ;  but  I  have  not  seen  her  since  she  was  ten 
years  old.  She  was  a  great  romp,  then,  and  very  plain." 

"  That  last  failing  is  cured.  She  has  grown  very  hand 
some." 

"  The  first  failing  ought  to  be  cured,  too,  by  this  time." 
"  I  am  not  so  clear  on  that  point.  She  is  a  girl  with  an 
abundance  of  education,  and  a  good  deal  of  a  certain  kind  of 
accomplishment  —  music,  and  so  on  —  but  no  breeding  at  all. 
If  she  had  had  the  training  of  good  society,  she  would  have 
been  one  of  a  thousand.  As  it  is  she  cares  for  nobody,  and 
does  and  says  whatever  comes  into  her  mind,  without  the 
least  regard  to  consequences  or  appearances." 

"  Does  she  affect  naturalness,  independence,  and  all  that?  " 
"  No,  she  affects  nothing.  The  material  is  admirable.  It 
only  needs  to  be  refined,  polished,  and  toned  down.  It's  un 
lucky,  colonel,  but  in  this  world  every  thing  worth  having  is 
broken  in  pieces  and  mixed  with  something  that  one  doesn't 
want.  It's  an  even  balance,  good  and  bad ;  there's  no  use  in 
going  off  into  raptures  about  any  thing.  One  thing  is  cer 
tain,  though ;  this  cousin  of  yours  has  character  enough  to 
supply  material  for  a  dozen  Miss  Primroses,  without  any  visi 
ble  diminution." 

"  I  should  like  to  see  her.     I'll  go  to-morrow." 
"  You'd  better.     But  now  tell  me   something  more  about 
your  journey." 

And,  in  reply  to  his  friend's  questions,  Morton  proceeded 
to  relate  such  incidents  as  had  befallen  him. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

Beauty  is  a  witch 

Against  whose  charms  faith  melteth  into  blood. 
D.  Pedro.  —  If  thou  wilt  hold  longer  argument, 
Do  it  in  notes. 
Benedick.  —  Now,  divine  air,  now  is  his  soul  ravished. 

Much  Ado  about  Nothing. 

MORTON  visited  his  cousin,  Miss  Fanny  Euston,  a  guest, 
for  a  few  days,  at  a  friend's  house  in  town.  By  good  fortune, 
as  he  thought  it,  he  found  her  alone ;  and,  as  he  conversed 
with  her,  he  employed  himself  —  after  a  practice  usual  with 
him  —  in  studying  her  character,  and  making  internal  com 
ments  upon  it.  These  insidious  reflections,  condensed  into  a 
paragraph,  would  have  been  somewhat  as  follows  :  — 

"  A  fine  figure,  and  a  very  handsome  face  ;  but  there  is  a 
lurking  devil  in  her  eye,  and  about  the  corners  of  her  mouth." 
Here  some  ten  minutes  of  animated  dialogue  ensued  before 
his  observations  had  shaped  themselves  into  further  results. 
"  She  is  exceedingly  clever ;  she  knows  how  to  think  and  act 
for  herself.  I  should  not  like  to  cross  her  will.  There  is  fire 
enough  in  her  to  make  a  hundred  women  interesting.  She  is 
none  of  our  frosty  New  England  beauties.  She  could  love  a* 
man  to  the  death,  and  hate  him  as  well.  She  could .  be  a 
heroine  or  a  tigress.  Every  thing  about  her  is  wild  and  cha 
otic,  the  unformed  elements  of  a  superb  woman." 

(43) 


44  VASSALL    MORTON. 

Here,  the  conversation  having  lasted  a  half  hour  or  more, 
his  imagination  began  to  disturb  the  deductions  of  his  philos 
ophy,  and  he  was  no  longer  in  a  mood  of  just  psychological 
analysis,  when,  to  his  vexation,  his  cousin's  hostess,  Miss 
Jones,  entering,  brought  his  tete-a-tete  to  a  close.  She  dis 
played  a  marvellous  fluency  of  discourse,  and  was  eloquent 
upon  books,  parties,  paintings,  and  the  opera. 

. "  I  need  not  ask  you,  Mr.  Morton,  if  you  have  seen  Ten 
nyson's  new  poem." 

"  Yes  — at  the  bookseller's." 

"But  surely  you  have  read  it." 

"  No,  I  am  behind  the  age." 

"  Then  thank  Heaven  for  it,"  exclaimed  his  unceremonious 
cousin  ;  "  for  of  all  insipidity,  and  affectation,  and  fine-spun, 
wire-drawn  trash,  Tennyson  carries  away  the  palm.  Every 
body  reads  him  because  he  is  the  fashion,  and  every  body 
admires  him  because  he  is  the  fashion.  But  he  is  a  bubble, 
a  film,  a  gossamer  ;  there's  nothing  in  him." 

This  explosion  called  forth  a  protest  from  the  poet's  ad 
mirer. 

"  May  I  ask,"  said  Morton  to  his  cousin,  "  who  are  your 
literary  favorites  ? " 

"  Not  the  latter-day  poets  —  the  Tennysonian  school ; 
their  puling  mannerism  is  an  insult  to  the  Saxon  tongue." 

"  But,"  urged  Miss  Jones,  "  you  are  not  quite  reasonable." 
*  "  Of  course  I  am  not.  It's  not  a  woman's  province  to  be 
reasonable." 

"  Do  you  subscribe  to  these  poetical  heresies,  Mr.  Morton  ?  " 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  think  that  Tennyson  has  often  great 
beauties." 


VASSALL    MORTON.  45 

"If  he  sometimes  wrote  like  an  angel,"  pursued  Fanny 
Euston,  "  I  should  find  no  patience  to  see  it  in  a  man  who 
could  put  upon  paper  such  parrot  rhymes  as  these :  — 

'  Not  a  whit  of  thy  tuwhoo, 
Thee  to  woo  to  thy  tuwhit, 
Thee  to  woo  to  thy  tuwhit, 
"With  a  lengthened  loud  halloo, 
Tuwhoo,  tuwhit,  tuwhit,  tuwhoo-o-o  ! ' 

Bah  !  it  puts  one  in  a  passion  to  hear  such  twaddle." 

"  I  see,"  said  her  friend,  "  that  nothing  less  than  your  own 
music  will  calm  your  indignation.  Pray  let  us  hear  the  bal 
lad  which  you  set  to  music  this  morning." 

"  I  will  sing,  if  you  wish  it ;  but  not  that  ballad." 
And  she  seated  herself  before  the  open  piano. 
"  What  do  you  choose,  Mr.  Morton? " 
"  The  Marseillaise.     That,  I  think,  is  in  your  vein." 
"  Ah  !  you  can  choose  well !  " 

And,  running  her  fingers  over  the  keys,  she  launched  at 
once  into  the  warlike  strains  of  the  hymn  of  revolution.  Her 
voice  and  execution  were  admirable  ;  and  though  by  no  means 
unconscious  that  she  was  producing  an  effect,  she  sang  with 
a  fire,  energy,  and  seeming  recklessness  that  thrilled  like 
lightning  through  her  auditor's  veins.  He  rose  involun 
tarily  from  his  seat.  For  that  evening  his  study  of  char 
acter  was  ended,  and  philosophy  dislodged  from  her  last 
stronghold. 

Half  an  hour  later  he  was  riding  homeward  in  a  mood 
quite  novel  to  his  experience.  He  pushed  his  horse  to  a  keen 


46  VASSALL    MORTON. 

trot,  as  if  by  fierceness  of  motion  to  keep  pace  with  the  fiery 
influence  that  was  kindling  all  his  nerves. 

"  I  have  had  my  fancies  before  this,"  he  thought,  —  "  in 
fact  I  have  almost  been  in  love  ;  but  that  feeling  was  no  more 
like  this  than  a  draught  from  a  clear  spring  is  like  a  draught 
of  spiced  wine." 

That  night  he  fully  expected  to  be  haunted  by  a  vision  of 
Fanny  Euston ;  but  his  slumbers  were  unromantically  dream 
less. 

Three  days  later,  he  ventured  another  visit ;  but  his  cousin 
had  returned  to  her  home  in  the  country.  By  this  time 
he  was  conscious  of  a  great  abatement  of  ardor;  and  his 
equanimity  was  little  moved  by  the  disappointment.  In  a 
week  he  had  learned  to  look  back  on  his  transient  emotion 
as  an  effervescence  of  the  moment,  and  to  regard  his  relative 
with  no  slight  interest,  indeed,  yet  by  no  means  in  a  light 
which  could  blind  him  to  her  glaring  faults.  He  summoned 
up  all  that  he  could  recall  of  herself  and  her  family,  and 
chiefly  of  her  father,  whom  he  remembered  in  his  boyhood  as 
a  rough,  athletic  man,  whose  black  and  bushy  eyebrows  were 
usually  contracted  into  something  which  seemed  like  a  frown. 
These  boyish  recollections  were  far  from  doing  Euston  justice. 
He  was  a  man  of  masculine  and  determined  character.  His 
will  was  strong,  his  passions  violent ;  he  was  full  of  preju 
dices,  and  when  thwarted  or  contradicted,  his  rage  was  formi 
dable.  His  honor  was  unquestioned  ;  he  was  most  bluntly 
and  unmanageably  honest.  Yet  through  the  rock  and  iron 
of  his  character,  there  ran,  known  to  but  few,  a  delicate  vein 
of  poetic  feeling.  The  music  of  his  daughter,  or  the  verses 


VASSALL    MORTON.  47 

of  his  favorite  Burns,  could  often  bring  tears  to  his  stern  gray 
eyes.  For  his  wife,  whom  he  had  married  in  a  fit  of  pique 
and  disappointment,  when  little  more  than  a  boy,  he  cared 
nothing  ;  but  his  fondness  for  his  daughter  was  unbounded. 
He  alone  could  control  her  ;  for  she  loved  him  ardently,  and 
he  was  the  only  living  thing  of  which  she  stood  in  awe. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

Elle  ne  manque  jamais  de  saisir  promptement 
L'apparente  lueur  du  moindre  attachement, 
D'en  semer  la  nouvelle  avec  beaucoup  de  joie,  — 

Le  Tartvfe. 

AMONG  Morton's  acquaintance  was  a  certain  Miss  Blanche 
Blondel.  They  had  been  schoolmates  when  children;  and 
as,  at  a  later  date,  Miss  Blanche  had  been  fond  of  making 
long  visits  to  a  friend  in  Cambridge,  during  term  time,  Mor 
ton,  in  common  with  many  others,  had  a  college  acquaintance 
with  her,  so  that  they  were  now  on  a  footing  of  easy  inter 
course.  Not  that  he  liked  her.  On  the  contrary,  she  had 
inspired  him  with  a  very  emphatic  aversion ;  but  being  rather 
a  skirmisher  on  the  outposts  of  society,  than  enrolled  in  the 
main  battalion,  she  was  anxious  to  make  the  most  of  the  ac 
quaintance  she  had.  She  had  the  eyes  of  an  Argus,  and  was 
as  sly,  smooth,  watchful,  and  rusee  as  a  tortoise  shell  cat ; 
wonderfully  dexterous  at  finding  or  making  gossip,  and  un 
wearied  in  sowing  it,  broadcast,  to  the  right  and  left. 

One  evening  Morton  was  at  a  ball,  crowded  to  the  verge 
of  suffocation.  At  length  he  found  himself  in  a  corner  from 
which  there  was  no  retreat,  while  the  stately  proportions 
of  Mrs.  Frederic  Goldenberg  barred  his  onward  progress. 
But  when  that  distinguished  lady  chanced  to  move  aside,  she 

(48) 


VASSALL    MOBTON.  49 

revealed  the  countenance  of  Miss  Blondel,  beaming  on  him 
like  the  moon  after  an  eclipse.  She  nodded  and  smiled. 
There  was  no  escape.  Morton  smiled  hypocritically,  and 
said,  "'Good  evening."  Blanche,  as  usual,  was  eager  for  con 
versation,  and,  after  a  few  commonplaces,  she  said,  turning  up 
her  eyes  at  him  with  an  arch  expression,  — 

"  I  have  a  piece  of  news  to  tell  you,  Mr.  Morton." 

"Ah!"  replied  Morton,  expecting  something  disagreeable. 

"  A  piece  of  news  that  you  will  be  charmed  to  hear." 

« Indeed." 

"  Why,  how  cold  you  are  !  And  I  know  that,  in  your 
heart,  you  are  burning  to  hear  it." 

"  If  you  think  so,  you  are  determined  to  give  my  patience 
a  hard  schooling." 

"  Well,  I  will  not  tantalize  you  any  more.  Miss  Edith 
Leslie  sailed  from  Liverpool  for  home  last  Wednesday." 

"  Ah ! " 

"  How  cold  you  are  again !  Are  you  not  glad  to 
hear  it?" 

"  Certainly  —  all  her  friends  will  be  glad  to  hear  it." 

"  Upon  my  word,  Mr.  Morton,  you  are  worse  and  worse. 
When  a  gentleman  dances  twice  with  a  young  lady  on  class 
day,  and  twice  at  Mrs.  Fanfaron's  ball,  and  joins  her  in  the 
street  besides,  has  she  not  a  right  to  feel  hurt  when  he  hears 
with  such  profound  indifference  of  her  coming  home  after  a 
year's  absence  ? " 

Morton  could  hardly  restrain  the  extremity  of  his  distaste 
and  impatience. 

"  Miss  Leslie,  I  imagine,  would  spend  very  little  thought 


50  VASSALL   MORTON. 

upon  the  matter."  And  he  hastened,  first  to  change  the  con 
versation,  and  then  to  close  it  altogether. 

Having  escaped  from  his  fair  informant,  he  remained  di 
vided  between  pleasure  at  the  tidings,  and  annoyance  at  the 
manner  in  which  they  had  been  told. 

In  a  few  days  Miss  Leslie  arrived.  Her  beauty  had  ma 
tured  during  her  absence.  She  was  conspicuously  and  bril 
liantly  handsome,  and  was  admired  accordingly,  —  a  fact  which, 
though  she  could  not  but  be  conscious  of  it,  seemed  to  affect 
her  very  little.  Morton  found  her  but  slightly  changed,  with 
the  same  polished  and  quiet  frankness,  the  same  lively  conver 
sation,  not  without  a  tinge  of  sarcasm,  and  the  same  enthusi 
asm  of  character,  betraying  itself  by  an  earnestness  of  man 
ner,  and  never  by  any  extravagance  of  expression.  He  had 
many  opportunities  of  seeing  her,  Miss  Blanche  Blondel 
being  but  rarely  present,  and,  in  his  growing  admiration  of 
her,  the  charms  of  his  unbridled  cousin  faded  more  and  more 
from  his  memory. 


CHAPTER   X. 


For  three  whole  days  you  thus  may  rest 
From  office  business,  news,  and  strife.    —  Pope. 


WHEN  the  summer  heats  set  in,  Meredith,  one  evening, 
drove  to  Morton's  house,  and,  arrayed  in  linen  and  grass- 
cloth,  smoked  his  cigar  under  his  friend's  veranda  with  as 
much  contentment  as  the  thermometer  at  ninety  would  per 
mit.  The  window  at  his  side  was  that  of  the  room  which 
Morton  used  as  his  study,  and  the  table  was  covered  with 
books. 

"  Colonel,"  said  Meredith,  "  what  a  painstaking  fellow  you 
are  !  Ever  since  you  left  college  —  except  when  you  were  off 
on  that  journey,  which  was  one  of  the  most  rational  things 
you  ever  did  in  your  life  —  you  have  been  digging  here 
among  your  books,  as  if  you  were  some  half-starved  law  stu 
dent,  with  a  prospect  of  matrimony." 

"  I've  done  digging  for  the  present.  It's  against  my  prin 
ciples  to  work  much  in  July  and  August." 

"  "What  do  you  mean  to  do  ?  " 

"  Set  out  on  a  journey." 

"  I  suppose  so.     You  are  a  lucky  fellow." 

"  Give  yourself  a  vacation,  and  come  with  me." 

"  No,  I'm  in  for  it  for  the  next  two  months ;  but  I  will 
have  my  revenge  before  long."  (51) 


52  VASSALL    MORTON. 

"  Three  days  from  your  office  will  never  ruin  you  or  your 
family.  Come  with  me  to  New  Baden,  if  you  can't  do  better." 

"  I  think  I  can  manage  that,  — and  I  will." 

Accordingly,  on  Monday  morning,  they  took  the  train 
thitherward. 


CHAPTER,    XI. 


The  company  is  '  mixed,'  (the  phrase  I  quote  is 

As  much  as  saying,  they're  below  your  notice.)    —  Byvon. 


Ox  reaching  New  Baden,  towards  night,  they  learned  that 
there  was  to  be  a  dance  that  evening,  in  the  hall. 

"  The  dense  !  "  ejaculated  Meredith,  as  they  entered ;  "  have 
we  come  all  this  distance  to  find  old  faces  again  at  New  Ba 
den  ?  Look  at  that  corner." 

Morton  looked,  and  beheld  a  solemn  group  taking  no  part 
in  the  amusements,  but  scrutinizing  the  scene  with  the  air  of 
superior  beings.  He  recognized  the  familiar  countenance  of 
Mrs.  Primrose,  with  her  daughter,  Miss  Constance  Primrose, 
and  her  daughter's  friend,  Miss  Wallflower.  There,  too,  was 
Mr.  Benjamin  Stubb,  Morton's  classmate,  and  Miss  Prim 
rose's  reputed  admirer,  with  several  other  kindred  spirits. 
Stubb  was  a  tall  and  very  slender  young  man,  with  a  grave 
and  pallid  visage,  and  an  uncompromising  rigidity  of  cravat. 
Though  his  brain  was  unfurnished,  his  morals  were  reasonably 
good,  and  he  went  regularly  to  church,  believing  that  there 
was,  he  could  not  tell  how,  an  inseparable  connection  between 
good  society  and  the  ritual  of  the  English  church.  He 
prided  himself  on  his  gentlemanly  deportment,  and  regarded 
a  lady  as  a  being  who  is  under  no  circumstances  to  be  ap- 
5  *  (53) 


54  VASSALL    MOKTON. 

preached,  except  through  the  medium  of  certain  prescribed 
forms  and  'ceremonies.  He  seldom  noticed  those  whom  he 
thought  his  inferiors,  and  was  very  formal  and  exact  towards 
the  select  few  whom  he  acknowledged  as  his  equals.  As  to 
superiors,  he  confessed  none,  except  in  the  highest  ranks  of 
the  English  aristocracy,  upon  whom  he  looked  with  great 
reverence.  He  thought  that  there  was  no  really  good  society 
in  America,  except  the  society  of  Boston,  of  which  he  re 
garded  himself  and  his  connections  as  the  crime,  de  la  creme. 
He  cherished  a  just  hereditary  scorn  of  upstarts  and  par 
venus  ;  for  already  nearly  half  a  century  had  expired  since 
the  Stubbs  began  to  rise  on  golden  wings  from  their  native 
mud.  Nor  was  this  their  only  claim  to  ancestral  eminence  ; 
since  a  judicious  investment  of  a  little  surplus  income  at  the 
College  of  Heralds  had  revealed  the  gratifying  truth  that  the 
Stubbs  of  Boston  were  lineal  descendants  of  King  Arthur. 

Mrs.  Primrose  was  a  very  benevolent  and  estimable  person, 
who  knew  nothing  of  the  world  beyond  her  own  circle,  and 
looked  with  dire  reprehension  on  any  deviation  from  the  stan 
dard  of  morals  and  manners  which  she  had  been  accustomed 
to  regard  as  the  correct  and  proper  one.  Miss  Constance 
Primrose  realized  Stubb's  most  exalted  ideal  of  a  young  lady. 
She  was  very  pretty,  but  with  a  face  cold  and  unchanging  as 
marble.  She  carried  an  unquestionable  air  of  good,  not  to 
say  of  high  breeding  ;  having  in  this  point  an  advantage  over 
her  mother,  whose  style  savored  a  little  of  the  simplicity  of 
her  early  surroundings.  The  material,  indeed,  was  very  slen 
der  ;  but  it  had  received  a  creditable  polish  ;  and  though  she 
had  nothing  to  say,  she  said  it  with  an  undeniable  grace. 


VASSALL    MORTON.  55 

Morton  and  Meredith  paid  their  compliments  to  the  group, 
the  former  hastening  to  mingle  with  the  crowd  again,  while 
Meredith  remained  to  exchange  a  few  words  with  the  pretty, 
modest,  and  too-much-neglected  Miss  Wallflower. 

"  Upon  my  word,  Mr.  Meredith,"  said  Mrs.  Primrose, 
"  Mr.  Morton  has  found  a  singular  pair  of  acquaintances." 

"  O,  yes,"  said  Meredith;  "those  are  particular  friends  of 
his." 

"  Very  singular  !  "  murmured  Mrs.  Primrose. 

Morton  was  walking  slowly  up  the  hall,  conversing  with  an 
odd-looking  couple  —  a  heavy,  thick  set  man,  in  the  fantas 
tic  finery  of  a  Broadway  swell,  and  a  woman  of  five  feet  ten, 
thin  and  gaunt,  with  a  yellow  complexion,  and  a  pair  of  fierce, 
glittering  eyes,  like  an  Indian  squaw  in  ill  humor.  She  was 
gorgeous  in  silk,  brocade,  and  diamonds,  and  her  huge, 
gloveless,  bony  fingers  sparkled  with  jewelry.  Her  husband, 
on  his  part,  displayed  a  mighty  breastpin,  in  the  shape  of  a 
war  horse  rampant,  in  diamond  frostwork. 

"  Mr.  Meredith,"  murmured  the  horrified  Mrs.  Primrose, 
"  pray  who  are  those  persons  ?  " 

"  Aborigines  from  Red  River.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Major  Orson, 
of  Natchitoches.  He  is  a  speculator,  I  believe,  of  more 
wealth  than  reputation." 

"  And  are  they  friends  of  Mr.  Morton  ?  " 

"  0,  Morton  is  a  student  of  humanity.  He  met  them  at 
the  tea  table,  and  thinks  them  remarkable  specimens  of  nat 
ural  history." 

Mrs.  Primrose  did  not  hear  this  explanation.  The  trio  had 
now  approached  within  a  few  yards  ;  and  her  whole  attention 


56  VASSALL    MOBTON. 

was  absorbed  in  listening  to  the  high,  penetrating  voice  of 
the  female  ogre. 

"  There's  one  great  and  glorious  thing  about  Natchitoches," 
remarked  Mrs.  Orson. 

"  What's  that  ?  "  asked  Morton. 

"  You  can  get  every  thing  there  to  eat  that  heart  can  wish." 

"That's  a  fact,"  said  the  major;  "there  ain't  no  discount 
on  that." 

"  Game,  and  fish,  and  fruit,  and  vegetables,"  pursued  the 
lady  ;  "  any  thing  and  every  thing.  The  north  can't  compete 
with  it,  I  tell  you.  There's  the  pompano  !  O,  my !  Did 
you  ever  eat  a  pompano  ?  " 

"Never." 

"  Then  you  have  got  something  to  look  forward  to.  That's 
a  fish  that  is  a  fish.  Why,  sir,  you  can  begin  at  the  tail,  and 
eat  him  clean  away  to  the  head,  and  the  bones  is  just  like 
marrow  !  It  makes  my  mouth  water  to  think  of  it !  " 

"  O,  hush  !  "  cried  the  major,  with  sympathetic  emotion. 

"  And  then  the  fruit !  Think  of  the  peaches  !  They  beat 
your  nasty  little  northern  peaches  all  holler  ! r' 

"Yes,"  added  the  major,  and  to  have  your  own  boys  to 
shin  up  the  tree  and  throw  'em  down  to  you ;  and  to  sit  un 
der  the  shade  all  the  afternoon  eating  'em ;  —  that's  the  way 
to  live !  " 

"  It's  all  the  little  niggers  is  good  for,  just  to  pick  fruit." 

"  Troublesome  animals,  I  should  think,"  observed  Morton. 

"  Well,  they  be  ;  and  the  growed-up  niggers  ain't  much 
better.  To  think  of  that  girl,  Cynthy,  major.  My  !  wasn't 
she  one  of  'em  !  The  major  is,  out  of  all  account,  too  tender 


VASSALL    MORTON.  57 

to  his  niggers,  and  if  it  warn't  for  me,  they  wouldn't  get  a 
speck  of  justice  done.  Why,  what  are  all  those  folks  moving 
for  ?  My  !  supper's  ready.  I'll  go  in  with  this  gentleman, 
major,  and  you  may  foller  with  any  pretty  gal  that  you  can 
get  to  come  with  you.  I  ain't  a  jealous  woman"  —  turning 
to  Morton  —  "I  let  the  major  do  pretty  much  what  he 
pleases." 

Mrs.  Primrose  drew  a  deep  breath.  "  There  must  be  "  — 
thus  she  communed  with  herself —  "  something  essentially 
vulgar  in  the  mind  of  that  young  man,  if  he  can  neglect  a 
cultivated  and  refined  young  lady  like  Constance,  and  at  the 
same  time  find  pleasure  in  the  conversation  of  a  person  like 
that."  And  she  considered  within  herself  whether  it  would 
not  be  best  to  warn  Constance  not  to  encourage  any  advances 
which  he  might  in  future  make.  On  second  thoughts,  re 
flecting  that  his  position  was  unquestionable,  his  wealth  great, 
and  that  she  had  never  heard  any  thing  against  his  morals, 
she  determined  to  suspend  all  action  for  the  present,  keeping 
a  close  watch,  meanwhile,  on  his  behavior. 

While  Morton  was  thus  brought  to  the  bar  in  the  matronly 
breast  of  Mrs.  Primrose,  while  the  jury  were  bringing  in  a 
verdict  of  guilty,  joined  to  a  recommendation  to  mercy,  the 
unconscious  young  man  was  leading  his  companion  to  the 
supper  room ;  where,  furnishing  her  with  a  huge  plate  of 
oysters,  he  left  her  in  perfect  contentment. 

Not  long  after,  he  encountered  Meredith. 

"  How  do  you  like  your  friend  in  the  diamonds  ?  " 

"  She's  a  superb  specimen ;  about  as  civilized,  with  all  her 
jewelry,  as  a  Pawnee  'squaw.  She  has  a  vein  of  womanhood, 


58  VASSALL    MORTON. 

though.  I  saw  her,  in  the  tea  room,  fondle  a  kitten  whose 
foot  had  been  trodden  upon,  as  tenderly  as  if  it  had  been  a 
child." 

"  If  you  had  not  been  so  busy  with  her,  you  would  have 
met  a  person  much  better  worth  your  time." 

"Who's  that?" 

"  Miss  Fanny  Euston." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  she  is  here  ?  " 

"  She  was  here,  —  in  that  room  adjoining.  But  she  has 
gone  ;  you'll  see  nothing  of  her  to-night." 

"  "Will  not  her  being  here  induce  you  to  stay  ?  " 

The  question,  as  he  spoke  it,  had  a  sound  of  frankness  ; 
but  the  shameful  truth  must  be  confessed,  that,  in  spite  of  his 
friendship  for  Meredith,  and  his  admiration  of  Miss  Leslie,  he 
was  a  little  jealous  of  his  friend. 

"  No,"  replied  Meredith,  "  it's  out  of  the  question.  I  must 
be  off  the  day  after  to-morrow.  By  the  way,  you  never  told 
me  how  you  liked  Miss  Euston." 

"  A  rough  diamond,  needing  nothing  but  to  be  cut,  pol 
ished,  and  set !  " 

"It's  too  late,  I  think,  for  that.  The  polishing  should  have 
begun  before  eighteen.  She  is  quite  unformed,  and  quite 
unconscious  of  being  so.  I'll  leave  you  here  to  fall  in  love 
with  her,  if  you  like ;  but  if  you  do,  colonel,  you'll  be  a  good 
deal  younger  than  I  take  you  for." 

There  was  something  in  his  friend's  tone  which  led  Morton 
half  to  suspect  the  truth.  Meredith  had  himself  a  penchant 
for  Miss  Fanny  Euston,  held  in  abeyance  by  a  very  lively  per 
ception  of  her  faults. 


CHAPTER   XII. 

Will  you  woo  this  wildcat  ?  —  KatJiarine.  and  Petruchio. 

MEREDITH  went  away,  as  lie  had  proposed,  leaving  Mor 
ton  at  New  Baden.  The  latter  soon  came  to  the  opinion  that 
he  had  never  yet  found  so  interesting  a  subject  of  psycho 
logical  observation  as  that  afforded  him  in  the  person  of  his 
relative,  Miss  Euston.  She  seemed  to  him  the  most  wayward 
of  mortals ;  yet  in  the  midst  of  this  lawlessness,  generous 
instincts  were  constantly  betraying  themselves,  and  a  certain 
native  grace,  a  charm  of  womanhood,  followed  her  wildest 
caprices.  She  often  gave  great  offence  by  her  brusqueries  ; 
yet  those  who  best  knew  her  were  commonly  her  ardent 
friends. 

Mrs.  Primrose  looked  upon  her  with  her  most  profound 
and  unqualified  disapprobation.  Her  daughter  copied  her 
sentiments  ;  while  Stubb  thought  her  an  outside  barbarian  of 
the  most  alarming  character.  Fanny  Euston' s  perceptions 
were  very  acute.  She  saw  the  effect  she  had  produced,  and 
seemed  to  take  peculiar  delight  in  aggravating  it,  and  shock 
ing  the  prejudices  of  he'r  critics  still  more. 

One  afternoon,  Miss  Primrose,  Mr.  Stubb,  Fanny  Euston, 
Morton,  and  several  others,  set  out  on  a  horseback  excursion, 
matronized  by  Mrs.  Primrose.  At  a  few  miles  from  New 

(59) 


60  TASSALL    MOItTON. 

Baden,  Morton  found  himself  riding  at  his  cousin's  side,  a 
little  behind  the  rest. 

"  Do  you  know,  I  came  this  morning,  to  ask  you  to  join  us 
on  our  walk  to  Elk  Ridge." 

"  Ah,  I  am  sorry  I  was  not  there." 

"  You  were  there  ;  but  you  seemed  so  deep  in  Ivanhoe,  or 
some  other  of  your  favorites,  that  I  had  no  heart  to  inter 
rupt  you." 

"  But  that  was  quite  absurd.     I  should  like  to  have  gone." 

"  I  am  curious  to  know  what  book  you  were  so  busy  with. 
Something  of  Scott's  —  was  it  not?  " 

"Not  precisely." 

"  Nor  one  of  the  new  novels,"  pursued  Morton  —  "  those 
are  not  after  your  taste." 

"  Not  at  all ;  they  are  all  full  of  some  grand  reform  or  phil 
anthropic  scheme,  or  the  sorrows  of  some  destitute,  uninterest 
ing  little  wretch,  with  whom  you  are  required  to  sympathize." 

"  You  are  not  moulded  after  the  philanthropic  model.  But 
may  I  ask,  what  book  was  entertaining  you  so  much  ?  " 

"  Napier's  Life  of  Montrose." 

"  And  do  you  like  it  ?  " 

"  Indeed  I  do." 

"  And  you  like  Montrose  ?  " 

"  Certainly  I  like  him." 

"  I  could  have  sworn  it.  Do  you  remember  his  verses  to 
the  lady  of  his  heart?  " 

"  That  I  do,"  said  Fanny  Euston, — 

'  Like  Alexander  I  will  reign, 
And  I  will  reign  alone ; 


VASSALL    MORTON.  61 

My  heart  shall  evermore  disdain 

A  rival  on  my  throne. 
He  either  fears  his  fate  too  much, 

Or  his  deserts  are  small, 
Who  puts  it  not  unto  the  touch, 

To  win  or  lose  it  all. 

'  But  if  thou  wilt  be  constant  then, 

And  faithful  of  thy  word, 
I'll  make  thee  famous  by  my  pen, 

And  glorious  by  my  sword  ; 
I'll  serve  thee  in  such  noble  ways 

Was  never  heard  before ; 
I'll  dress  and  crown  thee  all  with  bays, 

And  love  thee  evermore.' 

"  Admirable  !  I  thought  I  had  a  good  memory,  but  you 
beat  me  hollow.  You  repeat  the  lines  as  if  you  liked  them." 

"  Who  would  not  like  them  ?  " 

"  And  yet  his  fashion  of  wooing  would  be  a  little  peremp 
tory  for  the  nineteenth  century." 

"  There  are  no  Montroses  in  the  nineteenth  century." 

"  They  are  out  of  date,  like  many  a  good  thing  besides. 
Not  long  ago,  I  saw  some  verses  in  a  magazine  —  a  kind  of 
ballad  on  Montrose's  execution." 

"  Can  you  repeat  it  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  compete  with  you ;  but  I  think  I  can  give  you  a 
stanza  or  two  :  — 

'  The  morning  dawned  full  darkly, 

The  rain  came  flashing  down, 
And  the  jagged  streak  of  the  levin  bolt 

Lit  up  the  gloomy  town : 
6 


62  YASSALL    MORTON. 

The  thunder  crashed  across  the  heaven, 

The  fatal  hour  was  come ; 
And  ay  broke  in,  with  muffled  beat, 

The  'larum  of  the  drum. 
There  was  madness  on  the  earth  below, 

And  anger  in  the  sky, 
And  young  and  old.  and  rich  and  poor, 

Came  forth  to  see  him  die. 


1  But  when  he  came,  though  pale  and  wan, 

He  looked  so  great  and  high, 
So  noble  was  his  manly  front, 

So  calm  his  steadfast  eye,  — 
The  rabble  rout  forbore  to  shout, 

And  each  man  held  his  breath, 
For  well  they  knew  the  hero's  soul 

Was  face  to  face  with  death.' 


Fanny  Euston's  eye  kindled,  as  if  at  a  strain  of  warlike 
music. 

"  Go  on." 

"  I  have  forgotten  the  rest." 

"  Then  pray  find  the  verses  and  send  them  to  me.  Why  is 
it  that,  as  you  say,  such  men  are  out  of  date  ?  " 

"  What  place,  or  what  career,  could  they  find  in  a  commer 
cial  country  ? " 

"  Then  why  were  we  born  in  a  commercial  country  ?  " 

"  You  seem  to  make  an  ideal  hero  of  Montrose." 

"  Not  I.  I  am  not  the  school  girl  you  take  me  for.  I 
have  no  ideal  hero.  I  do  not  believe  in  ideal  heroes.  Mont- 
rose  was  a  man,  with  the  faults  of  a  man ;  full  of  faults,  and 
yet  not  a  bad  man  either." 


VASSALL    MORTON.  63 

"  Very  far  from  it." 

"  He  liad  great  faults,  but  grand  qualities  to  match  them, 
—  worth  a  thousand  of  the  small,  tame,  correct  virtues  that 
one  sees  hereabouts." 

"  Dangerous  ideas,  those,  Mrs.  Primrose  would  tell  you." 

"  Deliver  me  from  Mrs.  Primrose  !  "  ejaculated  Fanny. 

They  rode  in  silence  for  a  few  minutes,  Morton's  companion 
murmuring  to  herself  fragments  of  the  lines  which  he  had 
just  repeated. 

"  Look  !  "  she  cried,  suddenly.  "  How  slowly  our  horses 
have  been  walking  !  The  rest  are  almost  out  of  sight.  We 
had  better  join  them.  Will  you  race  with  me  ?  " 

"  Any  thing  you  please." 

"  Come  on,  then." 

She  touched  her  horse  with  the  whip,  and  they  set  forward 
at  full  speed.  Fanny,  who  was  by  far  the  better  mounted, 
soon  gained  the  day. 

"  Rein  up,"  cried  Morton,  as  they  came  near  the  party, 
"  or  your  horse  will  startle  the  others." 

Fanny  drew  the  curb,  but  not  quite  successfully  ;  and  her 
rapid  arrival  produced  some  commotion.  Stubb's  horse,  in 
particular,  began  to  prance  and  curvet  in  a  manner  which 
greatly  disturbed  his  rider's  equanimity. 

"  Whoa  !  Whoa,  boy  !  "  said  Stubb.  "  Steady,  now  ! 
steady,  sir  !  Whoa  !  " 

Fanny's  eyes  twinkled  with  malicious  delight.  She  had  a 
great  contempt  for  Stubb,  who,  on  his  part,  was  mortally 
afraid  of  her. 

"  That's  a  good  horse  of  yours,"  pushing  close  to  his  side. 


64  VASSALL    MOETON. 

"  Yes,  a  very  fine  horse,  indeed.  Steady,  boy  !  Steady, 
now ! " 

"  A  capital  horse  ;  but  he  needs  a  spirited  hand  like  yours 
to  manage  him." 

"  Whoa  !     Quiet,  now  !  —  poor  fellow  !  " 

This  last  endearing  address  was  checked  by  a  sudden  jolt, 
produced  by  a  spasmodic  movement  of  the  horse,  which 
shook  the  cavalier  to  his  very  centre. 

"  Punish  him  well  with  your  spurs,  Mr.  Stubb,  and  let 
him  run  ;  that's  the  way  to  cure  him  of  his  tricks.  Suppose 
we  try  a  race  together." 

"  Thank  you,  Miss  Euston,  but  the  fact  is  —  Whoa,  boy ! 
whoa  !  —  I  mean,  the  stableman  told  me  that  he  is  rather 
short  of  breath." 

"  O,  never  mind  the  stableman.     Come,  let's  go." 

"  Thank  you,  Miss  Euston,  I  believe  not  to-day." 

"  You  astonish  me.  I  will  lay  any  bet  you  like  —  you 
shall  name  the  wager  —  any  thing  you  please." 

"  Really,  this  is  a  little  too  bad  !  "  soliloquized  the  horri 
fied  Mrs.  Primrose.  "Miss  Euston,  I  entreat  of  you — I 
beg  —  that  we  may  have  no  more  racing.  It  is  very  danger 
ous,  besides  being " 

"  What  is  it  besides  being  dangerous,  Mrs.  Primrose  ?  " 

"  Very  indecorous." 

"  I  am  very  sorry,  for  I  have  set  my  heart  on  a  race  with 
Mr.  Stubb." 

"  Mr.  Morton,"  said  the  distressed  lady,  aside  to  that 
young  gentleman,  "  you  are  a  prudent  and  sober-minded 
person  ;  pray- use  your  influence." 


VASSALL    MORTON.  65 

She  was  interrupted  by  a  most  uncanonical  ejaculation 
from  the  author  of  her  embarrassments,  which,  though 
couched  in  a  foreign  language,  petrified  her  into  silence.  A 
sharp  gust  of  wind  had  blown  away  Fanny's  veil,  and  she 
was  on  the  point  of  dashing  off  in  pursuit  of  it. 

"  Stop  !  "  cried  Morton,  "  you'll  break  your  neck.  Let 
me  get  it  for  you." 

The  veil  sailed  away  before  the  wind,  and  Morton  spurred, 
in  pursuit,  delighted  to  display  his  horsemanship  before 
ladies,  though  it  had  no  other  merit  than  a  tenacious  seat 
and  a  kind  of  recklessness,  the  result  of  an  excitable  temper 
ament.  The  ground  was  rough  and  broken,  and  studded 
with  rocks  and  savin  bushes,  and  as  he  galloped  at  a  break 
neck  speed  down  the  side  of  the  hill,  in  a  vain  attempt  to 
catch  the  veil  flying,  even  Fanny  held  her  breath.  He 
secured  his  prize,  as  it  caught  against  a  bush,  and  returned 
to  the  road. 

"  Now,  Miss  Euston,"  said  Mrs.  Primrose,  looking  folios 
at  the  offender,  "  I  trust  we  shall  be  allowed  to  go  on  in 
peace." 

There  was  an  interval  of  repose.  Stubb  regained  his  peace 
of  mind.  Miss  Primrose,  with  whom  he  fancied  himself  in 
love,  smiled  upon  him,  and  his  self-conceit,  before  shaken  in 
its  stronghold,  was  returning  in  full  force,  when  Fanny,  who 
nourished  a  peculiar  spite  against  this  harmless  blockhead, 
and  whom  that  afternoon  a  very  Satan  of  mischief  seemed  to 
possess,  again  rode  to  his  side,  and  renewed  her  solicitations 
for  a  race. 

"Miss   Euston,"  said  Mrs.  Primrose,  "I  am -certain   you 


I 


66  VASSALL    MORTON. 

would  do  nothing  so  unladylike  as  to  force  Mr.  Stubb  to 
race  against  his  will.  Consider  the  example  you  would  set 
to  Georgiana  Gosling,  who  always  imitates  what  she  sees 
you  do." 

The  words  were  mild  and  motherly ;  but  the  counte 
nance  of  the  outraged  matron  had  an  uncompromising  look 
of  reprehension,  which  exasperated  Fanny's  wayward  humor 
beyond  measure.  She  began,  it  is  true,  a  lively  conversation 
011  general  topics  with  the  intelligent  Stubb,  but,  meantime, 
by  alternately,  checking  and  exciting  her  horse,  and  urging 
him  to  play  a  variety  of  antics,  she  contrived  to  infect  her 
companion's  steed  with  the  like  contagion.  He  pranced, 
plunged,  and  chafed,  till  his  rider  was  brought  to  the  verge 
of  despair. 

The  road  had  become  quite  narrow,  running  through  a 
thick  forest,  frequented  chiefly  by  woodcutters  in  the  winter, 
and  hunters  of  the  picturesque  in  summer.  Fanny's  imitator, 
the  adventurous  Miss  Gosling,  a  little  girl  of  fourteen,  had 
ridden  a  few  rods  in  advance  of  the  rest,  when  suddenly  they 
saw  her  returning,  astonished  and  disconsolate. 

"  We  can't  go  any  farther ;  there's  a  great  tree  fallen 
across  the  road." 

A  severe  thundergust  of  the  night  before  had  overthrown 
a  hemlock,  the  trunk  of  which,  partly  sustained  by  the  roots 
and  branches,  formed  a  barrier  about  four  feet  from  the 
ground.  It  was  impossible  to  pass  through  the  woods  on 
either  side,  as  they  were  very  dense,  and  choked  with  a 
tangled  growth  of  laurel  bushes. 

"  How  very  annoying  !  "  said  Miss  Primrose. 


VASSALL    MORTON. 


67 ' 


"  What  shall  we  do  ?  "  inquired  Miss  Gosling. 

"Why,  jump  over  it,  to  be  sure,"  said  Fanny.  "Mr. 
Stubb  and  I  will  show  you  the  way." 

"  You  are  surely  not  in  earnest !  "  cried  Mrs.  Primrose. 

"  Of  course  I  am.  I  have  taken  higher  leaps  at  the  riding 
school,  twenty  times." 

"  You  had  better  not,"  said  Morton,  who  had  alighted  by 
the  roadside  to  draw  his  saddle  girth. 

"  It  is  too  dangerous  to  be  thought  of  for  a  single  mo 
ment,"  added  Mrs.  Primrose. 

"  Our  horses,"  pursued  the  indiscreet  Stubb,  "  are  not 
used  to  leaping,  and  some  of  the  ladies  would  certainly  be 
hurt." 

"  The  fool !  "  thought  Morton.     "  He  has  done  it  now." 

Fanny  threw  a  laughing,  caustic  glance  at  her  victim. 

"  Mine  will  leap,  I  know  ;  and  you  are  not  a  lady.  Come, 
Mr.  Stubb." 

"  Miss  Euston,"  interposed  the  excited  Mrs.  Primrose,  "  this 
must  not  be.  I  am  here  in  your  mother's  place,  and  she  will 
hold  me  responsible  for  your  safety.  I  forbid  you  to  go,  Miss 
Euston." 

Fanny  looked  for  a  moment  in  her  face.  Morton  caught 
the  expression.  It  was  one  of  unqualified,  though  not  ill- 
natured,  defiance. 

"  Come,"  cried  Fanny  again,  and  ran  her  horse  towards  the 
tree.  She  leaped  gallantly,  and  cleared  the  barrier ;  but  it 
was  evident  that  she  had  lost  control  of  the  spirited  animal, 
who  galloped  at  a  furious  rate  down  the  road. 

Morton  was  still  on  foot,  busied  with  his  saddle  girth. 


68  VASSALL    MORTON. 

u  The  crazy  child  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Primrose  ;  "  her  horse 
is  runm'ng  away.  Go  after  her  —  pray !  —  Mr.  Stubb  — 
somebody." 

"  O,  quick  !  quick  !  —  do,"  cried  little  Miss  Gosling,  who 
idolized  Fanny,  and  was  in  an  agony  of  fright  for  her. 

Thus  exhorted,  the  desperate  Stubb  cried,  "  Get  up,"  and 
galloped  for  the  tree  ;  but  his  horse  balked,  and,  leaping 
aside,  tumbled  him  into  the  mud.  The  ladies  screamed. 
Morton  would  have  laughed,  if  he  had  not  been  too  anxious 
for  Fanny. 

"  Get  out  of  the  way,  Stubb,"  he  cried,  mounting  with  all 
despatch. 

Miss  Primrose's  admirer  gathered  himself  up,  regained  his 
hat,  which  had  taken  refuge  in  a  puddle,  and  looked  with 
horror  at  a  ghastly  white  rent  across  his  knee.  Morton 
spurred  his  hack  against  the  barrier,  which  the  beast  cleared 
with  difficulty,  striking  his  hind  hoofs  as  he  went  over.  After 
riding  a  short  distance,  he  discovered  Fanny,  and  saw,  to  his 
great  relief,  that  she  was  regaining  control  over  her  horse. 
Half  a  mile  farther  on,  the  road  divided.  The  larger  branch 
led  to  the  right,  Morton  did  not  know  whither  ;  the  smaller 
turned  to  the  left,  and  after  circling  through  the  woods  for 
two  or  three  miles,  issued  upon  the  high  road.  Fanny,  who 
was  ignorant  of  the  way,  took  the  right  hand  branch.  In  a 
few  minutes  after,  she  had  brought  her  horse  to  a  trot,  and 
Morton  rode  up  to  her  side. 

"  You  are  wiser  than  I  am,  if  you  know  where  we  are 
going." 

"  I  thought  you  knew  the  way.  You  were  to  have  been 
our  guide." 


VASSALL    MORTON.  69 

"  We  are  on  the  wrong  road.  You  should  have  turned  to 
the  left." 

"  But  have  you  no  idea  where  this  will  lead  us  ? " 

"  Into  a  cedar  swamp,  for  what  I  know.  Had  we  not 
better  turn  back  ?  " 

"  O,  don't  speak  of  turning  back.  I  am  in  no  mood  for 
turning  back.  Let  us  keep  on.  I  am  sure  this  will  bring 
us  out  somewhere." 

"  As  you  please,"  said  Morton,  knowing  himself  to  be  in 
the  position  of  an  angler,  whose  only  chance  of  managing  his 
salmon  is  to  give  it  line. 

"  Where  are  all  the  rest  ?  " 

"  Holding  a  convention  behind  the  tree,  I  suppose.  At 
least,  I  left  them  there." 

"  And  did  not  Mr.  Stubb  dare  the  fatal  leap  ? " 

"  He  tried,  and  was  thrown  into  a  mud  puddle." 

"  No  bodily  harm,  I  hope." 

"  No ;  beaver  and  broadcloth  were  the  principal  sufferers. 
But  his  conceit  is  shaken  out  of  him  for  twenty-four  hours, 
at  least." 

"  Then  I  have  wrought  a  miracle,  and  can  claim  to  be 
canonized  on  the  strength  of  it." 

"  I  hope  you  may  be ;  but  I  never  expected  to  see  your 
name  in  the  calendar  of  saints." 

"  As  you  will  not  allow  me  to  be  a  saint,  I  suppose  you 
consider  me  as  mad.  Sanctity  and  madness,  they  say,  are 
of  kin." 

"  A  hair's  breadth,  or  so,  on  this  side  madness." 

"  Then  I  am  entitled  to  great  credit  for  keeping  my  wits  at 


70  VASSALL    MORTON. 

all.  What  reasonable  girl  would  not  be  driven  mad  with 
Mrs.  Primrose  to  watch  her,  and  disapprove  of  her,  and  cor 
rect  her  ?  Strange  —  is  it  not  ?  —  that  some  people  —  if 
Mrs.  Primrose  will  allow  me  to  use  so  inelegant  an  expres 
sion —  are  always  rubbing  one  against  the  grain." 

"  To  give  you  your  due,  I  think  you  have  paid  off  hand 
somely  any  grudge  you  may  owe  in  that  quarter." 

"  There  is  consolation  in  that.  Tell  me  —  you  are  of  the 
out-spoken  sort  —  are  you  not  of  my  opinion  ?  Let  me 
know  your  mind.  Mr.  Stubb  is " 

«  A  puppy." 

"  And  the  Primroses  are " 

"  Uninteresting." 

"  For  uninteresting,  say  insufferable.  If  Lucifer  wishes  to 
gain  me  over  to  his  side,  let  Mrs.  Primrose  be  made  my  guar 
dian  angel,  and  his  work  is  done." 

"  Your  horse  has  cast  a  shoe,"  said  Morton,  abruptly,  — 
"  yes  ;  and  he  is  lame  besides." 

"  It  is  this  broken,  stony  road.  I  wish  we  were  at  the  end 
of  it." 

"  So  do  I.  If  the  clouds  would  break  for  a  moment,  and 
show  us  the  sun,  I  could  form  some  idea  of  the  direction  we 
are  following." 

"  Why,"  said  Fanny,  in  alarm,  looking  at  her  watch,  "  the 
sun  must  be  very  near  setting." 

Morton  began  to  be  very  anxious,  for  his  companion's  sake, 
when,  a  moment  after,  they  came  upon  a  broader  track,  which 
intersected  the  other,  and  seemed  a  main  thoroughfare  of  the 
woodcutters. 


VASSALIi    MORTON.  71 

"  This  looks  more  promising,"  said  Morton ;  and  turning 
to  the  left,  they  pushed  their  horses  to  their  best  pace.  Twi 
light  came  on,  and  it  was  quite  dark  when  they  emerged  at 
length  upon  the  broad  and  dusty  highway.  In  a  few  minutes 
they  saw  a  countryman,  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  and  a 
long  nine  between  his  lips,  lounging  by  the  roadside. 

"  How  far  is  it  to  New  Baden  ?  " 

"  Wai,"  replied  the  man,  after  studying  his  querist  in 
silence  for  about  half  a  minute,  "  it's  fifteen  mile  strong." 

Morton  looked  at  Fanny,  whose  horse  was  very  lame,  and 
who,  in  spite  of  her  spirit,  began  to  show  unmistakable  signs 
of  fatigue. 

"  Is  there  a  public  house  any  where  near  ?  " 

"  Yas ;  it  ain't  far  ahead  to  Mashum's." 

"How  far?" 

"  Rather  better  nor  a  mile." 

On  coming  to  the  inn,  Morton  commended  Fanny  to  the 
care  of  the  landlady,  an  honest  New  Hampshire  woman, 
remounted  without  delay,  and  urged  his  tired  horse  to  such 
speed  that  he  reached  the  hotel  before  half  past  nine.  His 
arrival  relieved  the  anxieties,  or  silenced  the  tattle  of  the 
inmates  ;  and  in  the  morning  Fanny's  uncle  drove  to  the  inn, 
and  brought  back  the  adventurous  damsel  to  New  Baden. 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

Men  will  woo  the  tempest, 
And  wed  it,  to  their  cost.  —  Passim  Flowers. 

Then  fly  betimes,  for  only  they 
Conquer  love  that  run  away.  —  Carew. 

MORTON  had  been  for  some  time  of  opinion  that  he  had 
better  leave  New  Baden ;  yet  still  the  philosophic  youth  staid 
on,  —  a  week  longer,  —  a  fortnight  longer,  —  and  still  he 
lingered.  It  would  be  too  much  to  say  that  he  was  in  love 
with  his  handsome,  dare-devil  cousin;  but  his  mind  was 
greatly  troubled  in  regard  to  her  —  shaken  and  tossed  with 
a  variety  of  conflicting  emotions.  The  multiplied  and  con 
stantly  changing  phases  of  her  character,  its  strong  but 
utterly  ungoverned  resources,  its  frankness,  enthusiasm,  det 
estation  of  all  deceit  or  pretension,  and,  in  spite  of  her 
wildness,  a  deep  vein  of  womanly  tenderness  which  now  and 
then  betrayed  itself,  all  conspired  to  keep  his  interest  some 
what  painfully  excited. 

One  evening  he  left  the  crowded  piazza  of  the  hotel,  and, 
intending  to  flirt  with  solitude  and  a  cigar,  walked  towards  a 

<£ 

rustic  arbor,  overgrown  with  a  wild  grape  vine,  and  standing 
among  a  cluster  of  young  elms  at  the  foot  of  the  garden.  As 
he  drew  near,  he  saw  the  gleam  of  ladies'  dresses,  and  found 

(72) 


VASSALL    MORTON.  73 

the  seats  already  occupied  by  Miss  Fanny  Euston  and  two 
companions.  Morton  knew  them  well,  and  joined  the  party. 
As  neither  the  affected  graces  of  the  one  companion  nor  the 
voluble  emptiness  of  the  other  had  much  interest  in  his  eyes, 
he  directed  his  conversation  chiefly  to  Fanny.  In  a  few 
minutes  the  two  girls  exchanged  glances,  rose,  and  alleging 
some  pretended  engagement,  returned  to  the  hotel,  bent  on 
making  this  casual  interview  assume  the  air  of  a  flirtation. 

Morton  and  his  companion  sat  for  a  moment  in  silence. 

"  We  are  cousins  — are  we  not  ? "  said  the  former,  at  length. 

"  At  least  they  would  call  us  so  in  the  Highlands." 

"  Then  give  me  a  cousin's  privilege,  and  allow  me  to  be 
personal.  Are  you  not  out  of  spirits  to-night  ?  " 

"  Why  do  you  think  me  so  ? " 

"  From  your  look  and  manner." 

"  Are  you  not  tired  to  death  of  New  Baden  ? " 

"  Not  yet." 

"  I  am.  What  is  it  all  worth  ?  —  weary,  and  vapid,  and 
flat,  and  stale,  and  unprofitable  !  I  have  had  enough  of  it." 

"  Then  why  not  change  it  ?  " 

"  To  find  the  same  thing  in  a  new  shape  !  " 

"  Pardon  'me  if  I  call  that  a  freak  of  the  moment.  You 
are  the  gayest  of  the  gay." 

"  No,  I  am  not." 

"  You  are  a  belle  here  ;  a  centre  light.  The  moths  flutter 
about  you,  though  you  do,  now  and  then,  singe  their  wings. 
You  frighten  them,  and  they  repay  you  with  fine  speeches." 

"  I  am  weary  of  them.     For  Heaven's  sake,  abuse  me  a 
little.     I  know  you  have  it  often  in  your  heart." 
7 


74  TASSALL    MORTOX. 

"  Abuse  is  sometimes  nothing  but  flattery  in  disguise." 

"  Why  do  you  smile  ?     That  smile  was  at  my  expense." 

"  Why  should  you  imagine  so  ?  " 

"  I  insist  on  your  telling  me  its  meaning." 

"  I  was  only  thinking  that  when  tribute  in  an  old  shape 
has  become  wearisome,  one  may  like  to  have  it  paid  in  a 
new  one." 

"  That  certainly  is  not  flattery.  Do  you  know  I  am  be 
ginning  to  be  afraid  of  you?" 

"  I  could  not  have  thought  you  afraid  of  any  one." 

"  Yes,  I  am  afraid  of  you." 

"Why?" 

"  Because  you  are  always  observing  me.  Because  you 
penetrate  my  thoughts  and  understand  me  thoroughly." 

"  I  am  less  deep  than  you  suppose." 

"  At  least  you  know  all  my  faults.  You  are  always,  in  a 
quiet  way,  making  gibes  and  sarcasms  at  my  expense,  and 
touching  upon  my  weakest  points." 

u  Does  it  make  you  angry  ? " 

"  No  ;  I  rather  like  it ;  but  I  wish  to  repay  you.  I  wish 
to  find  your  weaknesses,  but  cannot.  Have  you  any  ?  " 

"  Yes,  an  abundance." 

"  And  will  you  tell  me  what  they  are  ?  " 

"  What,  that  you  may  use  them  against  me  !  The  moment 
you  know  them,  you  will  attack  me  without  mercy  ;  and  if 
you  see  me  wince,  it  is  all  over  with  me." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  mean  that  you  cease  to  like  one  as  soon  as  you  find 
that  you  can  gain  the  least  advantage  over  him.  If  I  could 


VASSALL    MORTON.  75 

really  make  you  a  little  afraid  of  me,  you  would  like  me  all 
the  better  for  it.  No,  I  will  show  you  none  of  my  weak 
nesses  ;  and  perhaps,  if  I  did,  you  would  not  find  them  of  a 
kind  that  you  could  use  against  me.  I  can  strike  at  you, 
but  you  cannot  hurt  me.  I  am  armed  in  proof.  I  defy  you." 

In  saying  this,  at  least,  Morton  showed  some  knowledge 
of  his  companion's  character.  To  defy  her  successfully  was 
a  great  step  towards  gaining  her  good  graces  ;  for  with  all 
her  wildness  she  was  very  sensitive  to  the  good  or  ill  opinion 
of  those  who  could  compel  her  to  respect  them.  She  became 
very  anxious  to  know  what  Morton  thought  of  her. 

"  You  say  that  you  do  not  understand  me  thoroughly. 
What  is  there  in  me  that  you  do  not  understand  ?  " 

"  You  may  say  that  I  do  not  understand  you  at  all." 

"  That  is  mere  evasion." 

"  Who  can  understand  the  language  of  Babel  ?  " 

"  Do  you  mean  that  I  speak  the  language  of  Babel  ? " 

"  Who  can  understand  chaos  ?  " 

"  And  am  I  chaos  ?  You  are  beginning  your  peculiar 
style  of  compliment  again." 

"  Do  not  be  displeased  at  it.  All  the  power  and  beauty 
of  the  universe  rose  out  of  chaos." 

"  Now  you  are  flattering  in  earnest." 

"  You  are  difficult  to  satisfy.  What  may  I  call  you  ?  A 
wild  Arab  racer  without  a  rider  ?  " 

"  That  will  answer  better." 

"  Or  a  rocket  without  a  stick  ? " 

"  I  have  seen  rockets  ;  but  I  do  not  know  what  the  stick 
is.  What  is  it  ?  What  is  it  for  ?  " 


76  YASSALL    MORTON. 

"  To  give  balance  and  aim  to  the  rocket  —  make  it,  as  the 
transcendentalists  say,  mount  skyward,  and  end  in  stars  and 
4  golden  rain.'  " 

"  Very  fine  !     And  how  if  it  has  no  stick  ? " 

"  Then  it  sparkles,  and  blazes,  and  hisses  on  the  ground  ; 
flies  up  and  down,  this  way  and  that,  plays  the  deuse  with 
every  thing  and  every  body,  and  at  last  blows  itself  up  to 
no  purpose." 

"  Ah,  I  see  that  the  stick  is  very  necessary.  I  will  try  to 
get  one." 

"  You  speak  in  a  bantering  tone,"  said  Morton,  "  but  you 
are  in  earnest." 

"  I  am  in  earnest !  "  exclaimed  Fanny  Euston,  with  a  sud 
den  change  of  voice  and  manner.  "  Every  word  that  you 
have  spoken  is  true.  I  am  driven  hither  and  thither  by  feel 
ings  and  impulses,  —  some  bad,  some  good,  —  chasing  every 
new  fancy  like  so  many  butterflies  or  will-o'-the-wisps, — 
without  thinking  of  results  —  restless  —  dissatisfied  —  find 
ing  no  life  but  in  the  excitement  of  the  moment.  Some 
times  I  have  hints  of  better  things.  Glimpses  of  light 
break  in  upon  me ;  but  they  come,  and  they  go  again.  I 
have  no  rule  of  life,  no  guiding  star." 

Morton  looked  at  his  companion  not  without  a  certain 
sense  of  victory.  He  saw  that  he  had  gained,  for  the  moment 
at  least,  an  influence  over  her,  and  roused  her  to  the  expres 
sion  of  feelings  to  which,  perhaps,  she  had  never  given  utter 
ance  before.  Yet  his  own  mind  was  any  thing  but  tranquil. 
Something  more  than  admiration  was  stirring  within  him.  He 
felt  impelled  to  explore  farther  the  proud  spirit  which  had 


VASSALL    MOKTON.  77 

already  yielded  up  to  him  some  of  its  secrets.  But  lie  felt 
that,  with  her  eyes  upon  him,  he  could  not  speak  without 
committing  himself  farther  than  he  was  prepared  to  do.  In 
this  dilemma  he  determined  to  retreat  —  a  resolution  for  which 
he  was  entitled  to  no  little  credit,  if  its  merit  is  to  be  measured 
by  the  effort  it  cost  him.  He  rose  from  his  seat. 

"  Fine?  your  star,  Fanny,  and  you  may  challenge  the 
world.  But  I  see  people  coming  down  the  garden  towards 
us.  We  shall  be  invaded  if  we  stay  here.  Let  us  walk 
back  towards  the  house." 

When  he  found  himself  alone  again,  he  paced  his  room  in 
no  very  enviable  frame  of  mind. 

"  What  devil  impelled  me  to  speak  as  I  did  ?  It  was  no 
part  of  mine  to  be  telling  her  of  her  faults.  Am  I  turning 
philanthropist  and  busybody  ?  If  I  wished  to  gain  her  heart, 
I  suspect  I  have  been  taking  the  right  course.  What  with 
any  other  lady  would  have  been  intolerable  presumption  and 
arrogance,  is  the  most  effectual  way  to  win  her  esteem.  And 
why  should  I  not  wish  to  gain  her  heart  ?  There  is  good 
there  in  abundance,  if  one  could  but  depend  on  it.  No  ;  I 
am  not  blinded  yet.  This  last  outburst  was  a  momentary 
impulse,  like  all  the  rest ;  and  to-morrow  she  will  be  reckless 
as  ever.  She  delights  in  lawlessness,  and  rejoices  in  the  zest 
of  breaking  established  bounds.  Her  wayward  will  is  like  a 
cataract,  and  may  carry  her,  God  knows  whither.  No  ;  I 
will  not  walk  in  this  path  ;  I  will  not  try  to  marry  her.  Her 
heart  is  untouched  —  that  is  clear  as  *  the  day.  I  wish 
she  could  say  as  much  of  mine.  I  will  leave  this  place  to 
morrow,  cost  what  it  will." 
7* 


78  VASSALL    MORTON. 

A  letter  from  Boston  gave  him  a  pretext ;  and  bidding 
farewell  to  his  cousin  and  her  mother,  he  took  the  early  train 
homewards.  The  newsboy  brought  him  a  paper,  and  his 
eyes  rested  on  the  columns  ;  but  his  thoughts  centred  on 
Fanny  Euston  and  his  last  evening's  conversation  with  her  at 
the  foot  of  the  garden. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

*    *    *    One  fire  burns  out  another's  burning, 

One  pain  is  lessened  by  another's  anguish ; 
Turn  giddy,  and  be  holp  by  backward  turning; 

One  desperate  grief  cures  with  another's  languish. 
Take  thou  some  new  infection  to  thine  eye, 
And  the  rank  poison  of  the  old  will  die.  —  Romeo  and  Juliet. 

ALL  da^r  the  train  whirled  along,  and  Morton's  troubled 
thoughts  found  no  rest. 

"  Matherton  !  "  cried  the  conductor,  opening  the  door  of  the 
car,  as  the  engine  stopped  in  a  large  station  house,  at  five 
o'clock  in  the  afternoon.  Several  passengers  got  out ;  two 
or  three  came  in ;  the  bell  rang,  and  with  puffing  and  clank 
ing,  the  train  was  on  its  way  again.  A  newsboy  passed  down 
the  car  with  a  bundle  of  newspapers  and  twopenny  novels. 
Morton  bought  one  of  the  latter  as  an  anodyne ;  but  even 
"  Orlando  Melville,  or  the  Victim  of  the  Press  Gang,"  failed 
to  produce  the  desired  soporific  effect,  and  his  thoughts  soon 
recurred  to  their  former  channel.  Suddenly  a  violent  concus 
sion,  a  crashing,  thumping,  and  grating  sound,  the  outcries 
of  a  hundred  passengers,  —  the  women  screaming,  and  some 
of  the  men  not  silent,  —  with  a  furious  rocking  and  tossing  of 
the  car,  ejected  every  thought  but  one  of  his  personal  safety. 
All  sprang  to  their  feet,  he  among  the  rest.  The  first  dis 
tinct  impression  which  his  mind  received  was  that  of  the  map 

(79) 


80  VASSALL    MORTON. 

in  front  of  him  making  a  flying  leap  out  of  the  open  window 
of  the  car,  carrying  the  sash  with  him  —  a  dexterous  piece  of 
gymnastics,  only  to  be  accounted  for  by  the  fact  that  the  per 
former  was  a  distinguished  artist  of  the  Grand  National  Olym 
pic  Circus.  His  boots  twinkled  at  the  window,  and  he  was 
gone,  alighting  on  his  feet  like  a  cat,  but  Morton  was  too 
much  frightened  to  laugh.  In  a  few  moments  the  car  came 
to  a  rest,  without  being  overturned,  though  the  front  was 
partly  broken  in,  and  the  whole  swung  off  the  rails  to  an  an 
gle  of  forty-five  degrees.  On  looking  out  at  the  window,  the 
first  object  that  met  Morton's  eye  was  the  baggage  car,  thrown 
on  its  side,  with  the  door  uppermost.  As  he  looked,  the  door 
opened,  and  a  head  emerged  —  like  a  triton  from  the  deep, 
or  Banquo's  ghost  frpm  a  trap  door  —  white  with  wrath  and 
fright,  and  swearing  with  wonderful  volubility.  Then  ap 
peared  another,  rising  by  the  side  of  the  first,  equally  pallid, 
but  much  less  profane.  The  heads  belonged  to  two  men, 
who  had  been  seated  in  the  compartment  of  the  baggage  car 
allotted  to  the  mails,  and  when  it  was  flung  off  the  track,  had 
been  rattled  together  like  dice  in  a  box,  suffering  various 
bruises,  but  no  serious  harm.  The  breaking  of  the  defective 
cast  iron  axle  of  the  tender  had  caused  the  whole  disaster, 
which  would  doubtless  have  produced  fatal  consequences  had 
not  the  train  been  moving  at  a  very  slow  rate.  As  it  hap 
pened,  a  few  contusions  were  its  worst  results,  and  one  of  the 

morning  papers, 

"  for  profound 

And  solid  lying  much  renowned," 

solemnly  averred  that  none  but  Providence  was  responsible 
for  it. 


VASSALL    MORTON.  81 

There  was  abundant  noise  and  vociferation.  The  passen 
gers  left  the  train,  some  lending  their  bungling  aid  to  repair 
the  mischief,  while  others  withdrew  to  an  inn  which  chanced 
to  be  in  the  neighborhood.  After  looking  for  a  time  at  the 
downfallen  tender  and  the  uprooted  rails,  Morton,  from  some 
idle  impulse,  entered  the  car  which  he  had  lately  left.  It 
was  empty  ;  and,  passing  through  it,  he  looked  into  that  im 
mediately  behind,  which  had  remained  safely  upon  the  rails. 
This  also  was  empty,  with  the  exception  of  a  single  person,  a 
young  female  figure,  seated  at  one  of  the  windows.  She  was 
closely  veiled,  yet  there  was  in  her  air  that  indefinable  some 
thing  which  told  Morton  at  a  glance  that  she  was  a  lady. 
He  stepped  to  the  ground,  conjecturing  whether  or  no  she 
had  a  companion. 

Five  minutes  after,  glancing  at  the  window,  he  saw  the 
solitary  traveller  seated  in  the  same  position  as  before,  and 
became  convinced  that  she  was  unattended.  The  women  in 
the  train  had  left  it  at  the  outset.  The  busy  and  clamorous 
throng  of  men  alone  remained ;  and  Morton  easily  conceived 
that  her  situation  must  be  an  embarrassing  one.  He  there 
fore  reentered  the  car  and  approached  her. 

"  I  am  afraid  we  shall  be  detained  here  for  two  or  three 
hours,  and  perhaps  till  late  at  night.  There  is  a  public  house 
a  little  way  off,  to  which  the  ladies  in  the  train  have  gone. 
If  you  will  allow  me,  I  will  show  you  the  way." 

So  he  spoke  ;  or,  rather,  so  he  would  have  spoken  ;  but  he 
had  scarcely  begun  when  the  veiled  head  was  joyfully  raised, 
and  the  veil  was  thrown  aside,  disclosing  to  his  astonished 
eyes  the  features  of  Edith  Leslie.  She  explained  that  sho 


82  VASSALL   MORTON. 

was  on  her  way  from  her  father's  country  seat  at  Mather  ton  ; 
and  that  he  was  to  meet  her  at  the  station  on  the  arrival  of 
the  train.  When  the  accident  took  place,  she  had  been  led 
to  suppose,  from  the  conversation  of  two  men  near  her,  that 
the  train  would  not  be  very  long  detained,  and  had  preferred 
remaining  in  the  car  to  mingling  with  the  tumultuous  throng 
outside. 

"  It  is  too  fine  an  afternoon,"  said  Morton,  as  they  left  the 
spot,  "to  be  mured  in  that  tavern.  This  lane  has  an  inviting 
look.  Have  you  a  mind  to  explore  it  ?  " 

They  walked  accordingly  in  the  direction  he  proposed  ;  and, 
as  they  did  so,  Morton  cast  many  a  stolen  glance  at  the  face 
of  his  companion.  The  mind  of  the  young  philosopher  was 
that  day  in  a  peculiarly  susceptible  state.  It  seemed  as  if 
Fanny  Euston  had  kindled  within  him  a  flame  which  could 
not  fix  itself  upon  her,  yet  must  needs  find  fuel  somewhere  ; 
and  as  his  eye  met  that  of  Edith  Leslie,  he  began  to  feel  that 
she  held  a  deeper  place  in  his  thoughts  than  he  had  ever  be 
fore  suspected. 

By  the  side  of  the  lane  stood  an  ancient  abode,  whose  rot 
ten  shingles  supported  a  rich  crop  of  green  mosses ;  and  in 
the  yard  an  old  man,  who  looked  like  a  relic  of  Bunker  Hill 
fight,  was  diligently  chopping  firewood. 

"  What  does  this  lane  lead  to  ? "  asked  Morton,  looking 
over  the  fence. 

The  woodchopper  leaned  on  his  axe,  wiped  his  brows 
with  the  tatters  of  a  red  handkerchief,  and  seemed  revolv 
ing  the  expediency  of  communicating  the  desired  informa 
tion. 


VASSALL    MORTON.  83 

"  Well,"  he  returned,  after  mature  reflection,  "  if  you  go 
fur  enough,  it'll  take  you  down  to  the  Diamond  Pool." 

"  The  Diamond  Pool,"  said  Miss  Leslie ;  "  that  has  a  prom 
ising  sound." 

The  lane  soon  began  to  lead  them  down  the  side  of  a  rug 
ged  hill,  between  barberry  bushes  and  stunted  savins,  with 
neglected  stone  walls,  where  the  striped  ground  squirrels 
chirruped  as  they  dodged  into  the  crevices.  In  a  few  mo 
ments  they  had  a  glimpse  of  the  water,  shining  between  the 
branches  of  the  trees  below. 

"  Upon  my  word,"  said  Morton,  as  they  stood  on  the  mar 
gin,  "  the  Diamond  Pool  is  not  to  be  despised.  We  have 
chosen  our  walk  well,  and  found,  a  tempting  place  of  rest  at 
the  end  of  it." 

"A  grassy  bank, —  a  clear  spring,  with  cardinal  flowers 
along  the  edge  —  a  cluster  of  maple  trees " 

"  And  a  flat  rock  at  the  foot  of  one  of  them,  for  you  to  rest 
upon.  We  are  well  provided  for." 

"  Except  that  a  seat  for  you  seems  to  have  been  forgotten." 

"  No,  if  I  wish  to  rest,  this  mound  of  grass  will  serve  my 
turn.  I  am  used  to  bivouacs." 

The  sun  had  just  vanished  behind  the  rocky  hill  on  the  far 
ther  side  of  the  water ;  a  sea  of  liquid  fire,  clouds  blazoned  in 
gold  and  crimson,  betokened  his  recent  presence.  The  lake  lay 
like  a  great  mirror  framed  in  green.  Another  sunset  glowed 
in  its  depths  ;  rocks,  hills,  and  trees  grew  downward ;  and 
the  kingfisher,  as  he  flitted  over  it,  made  a  dash  at  the  sur 
face,  as  if  to  peck  at  the  adversary  bird,  which  seemed  shoot 
ing  upward  to  meet  him. 


84  VASSALL   MOBTON. 

"  One  might  imagine,"  said  Miss  Leslie,  "  that  we  were  a 
hundred  miles  away  from  railroads,  factories,  and  all  abomi 
nations  of  the  kind." 

"  They  will  follow  soon,"  said  Morton  ;  "  they  are  not  far 
off".  There  is  no  sanctuary  from  American  enterprise." 

"  I  know  it  is  omnipotent  at  spoiling  a  landscape ;  but  I 
hope  that  this  one  may  escape,  —  at  least  if  there  is  no  mill 
privilege  in  the  neighborhood." 

"  There  is  —  an  excellent  one  —  at  the  outlet  of  the  pond, 
beyond  the  three  elms  yonder.  I  prophesy  that  in  five  years 
there  will  be  a  brick  factory  on  that  meadow,  with  a  row  of 
one  story  houses  for  the  operatives." 

"  It  will  be  a  scandal  and  a  profanation.  It  is  too  beauti 
ful  for  such  base  uses.  But  at  least  that  old  cedar  tree, 
rooted  in  a  cleft  of  the  precipice,  has  found  a  safe  sanctuary. 
There  it  was  growing  in  King  Philip's  time  ;  in  its  younger 
days  it  saw  Indian  wigwams  standing  on  this  bank ;  and 
there  its  offspring  will  grow  after  it,  safe  from  Yankee 
axes." 

"  One  cannot  be  sure  of  that.  A  time  will  come  yet,  when 
those  rocks  will  be  blasted  to  build  a  town  hall,  or  open  an 
other  railroad  track." 

"  But  they  cannot  build  railroads  and  factories  in  the 
clouds.  Our  New  England  sunsets  will  still  remain  to  re 
mind  one  that  there  is  an  ideal  side  of  life  —  something  in  it 
besides  locomotives  and  cotton  gins." 

"  There  it  is  that  you  are  wiser  than  we  are.  You  are 
mistresses  of  a  domain  of  which  men,  for  the  most  part, 
know  little  or  nothing." 


VASSALL    MORTON.  85 

"  Pray  what  domain  may  that  be  ? " 

"  One  that  is  all  mystery  to  me  —  a  world  of  thoughts  and 
sentiments  which  to  most  men  is  a  cloudland,  an  undiscovered 
country,  of  which  they  may  possibly  recognize  the  existence, 
but  of  whose  geography  they  know  nothing." 

"Why  should  they  be  more  ignorant  of  it  than  women?  " 

"  Because  they  are  commonly  given  over  to  practicalities, 
mixed  hopelessly  with  rivalries  and  ambitions.  Even  in  their 
highest  pursuits,  they  propose  to  themselves  some  definite 
point  to  be  gained,  some  object  to  be  achieved ;  but  women 
are  left  to  the  world  of  their  own  minds  —  there  they  can 
expatiate  at  will." 

"  That  is  a  dangerous  privilege." 

"  They  have  leisure  to  muse  on  the  joys  and  troubles  of 
life,  and  explore  depths  which  we  bridge  over." 

"  Either  your  mind  has  very  much  changed,  or  I  have 
very  much  mistaken  it.  Pardon  me,  but  I  fancied  that 
you  were  like  lago,  '  nothing  if  not  critical ;  '  or  at  least 
that  you  sympathized  with  his  slanderous  opinions  of  wo 
mankind." 

"  Heaven  forbid  !  What  treasonable  thought  did  you  sup 
pose  me  to  harbor  against  the  better  part  of  humanity? " 

"  At  all  events,  I  never  supposed  you  to  believe  that  the 
better  part  of  humanity  passed  their  leisure  time  in  meta 
physical  reveries  and  abstruse  meditations." 

"  You  were  speaking,  just  now,  of  ideals.  May  not  I  have 
mine  ? " 

"  So  your  ideal  woman  is  a  transcendental  philosopher, 
seated  in  the  midst  of  your  undiscovered  cloudland." 
8 


86  VASSAL!,    MORTON. 

"  Deliver  me  from  such  a  one  !  My  ideal  is  full  of  thought 
and  of  feeling ;  but  no  one  yet  ever  dreamed  of  branding  her 
as  a  philosopher.  But  why  did  you  think  me  so  very 
critical  ?  I  am  hardly  old  enough  yet  to  make  an  lago  or  a 
Rochefoucault." 

"  And  yet  you  used  always  to  have  some  saying  of  Roche 
foucault  at  your  tongue's  end." 

"  I  detest  him,  nevertheless,  for  a  French  Mephistopheles, 
—  and  all  his  tribe  with  him." 

"  When  I  said  as  much,  you  always  told  me  that  his  say 
ings  had  a  great  deal  of  truth  in  them." 

"  And  have  they  not  a  great  deal  of  truth  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  pretend  to  know  mankind  well  enough  to  an 
swer  ;  but  I  sincerely  hope,  not  much.  Life  would  be  worse 
than  a  blank  if  men  and  women  were  what  he  represents 
them  to  be." 

"  I  think  not ;  for  if  one  cannot  learn  to  be  enthusiastic  in 
regard  to  the  actualities  of  human  nature,  he  can  console 
himself  by  a  boundless  faith  in  its  possibilities.  And  now 
and  then,  thank  God,  —  Rochefoucault  to  the  contrary  not 
withstanding,  —  one  finds  the  possibility  realized." 

His  companion  made  no  reply;  and  Morton  stood  for  a 
moment  with  his  eyes  bent  upon  her  face,  which,  to  his 
enamoured  fancy,  seemed  to  reflect  the  calm  beauty  of  the 
landscape  on  which  she  was  gazing.  He  thought  of  Fanny 
Euston  ;  he  recalled  his  last  evening's  conversation  with  her, 
and  felt  blindly  impelled  to  give  some  form  of  expression 
to  the  feeling  which  began  to  master  him. 

"  Miss  Leslie,  were  you  ever  in  a  storm  at  sea  ?  " 


VA.SSALL    MORTON.  87 

"  Yes,  in  a  slight  one  ;  but  the  ship  was  strong ;  there  was 
very  little  danger." 

"  Then  you  were  never  flung  about,  as  I  have  been,  in  an 
indifferent  egg  shell  of  a  craft,  out  of  sight  of  land,  at  the 
mercy  of  winds  and  waves." 

"  I  did  not  know  that  you  had  been  at  sea.  Ah,-  yes, 
you  were  at  school  in  France,  when  you  were  a  boy  —  were 
you  not  ? " 

"  Yes  ;  but  this  happened  since  I  have  become  a  man,  and 
not  long  ago.  I  think  I  shall  never  forget  it.  The  sun  was 
bright  at  one  moment,  and  all  was  black  as  a  hurricane  the 
next.  The  wind  came  from  every  point  of  the  compass  —  al 
ways  shifting,  never  resting.  I  had  not  an  instant's  peace.  It 
was  all  watching  —  all  anxiety  —  and  yet  there  was  a  kind  of 
pleasure  in  it.  If  I  had  had  wings,  I  doubt  if  I  should  have 
found  heart  to  use  them.  It  was  a  strange  gale.  It  blew 
hot  and  cold  by  fits  ;  I  thought  I  should  lose  my  reckoning 
altogether,  and  be  blown  away,  body  and  soul." 

"  Really,  I  cannot  imagine  where  your  tempest  is  going  to 
carry  you." 

"  Nor  could  I ;  when,  of  a  sudden,  I  found  myself  safe 
on  shore.  My  good  star  led  me  to  a  place  beautiful  as  the 
May  sunshine  could  make  it ;  a  scene  where  art  and  nature 
were  blended  so  harmoniously,  that  they  seemed  to  have 
grown  together  from  the  same  birth ;  full  of  repose,  and  tran 
quil,  graceful  power  ;  such  a  scene,  in  short,  as  made  me 
wish  that  Nature  would  embody  herself  in  a  visible  form, 
that  I  might  swear  homage  to  her  forever." 

Had  an  interpreter  been  needed,  Morton's  look  and  voice 


88  VASSALL   MORTON. 

must  have  betrayed,  at  least,  some  part  of  his  meaning.  The 
color  deepened  slightly  on  his  companion's  cheek,  but  she 
replied,  without  any  further  sign  of  consciousness,  — 

"  I  never  knew  that  you  were  quite  so  ardent  a  votary  of 
nature.  You  had  better  put  your  emotions  into  verse,  and 
sell  them  to  the  magazines,  after  the  true  poetic  custom.  In 
a  little  time,  I  don't  doubt,  Dr.  Griswold  would  find  a  place 
for  you  in  his  constellation  of  poets." 

"  Ah,"  said  Morton,  "  it  is  cruel  of  you  to  fling  cold  water 
on  my  rhapsodies.  But  my  flight  is  over.  And  now  I  will 
try  my  best  to  gain  the  esteem  in  your  eyes  of  a  man  of 
sense  and  a  sound  mind." 

"  And  now  those  night-hawks  over  head  are  beginning  to 
tell  us  that  we  had  better  go  back  to  the  railroad.  I  suppose 
you  will  place  it  among  the  other  frailties  of  women ;  but  I 
cannot  help  being  a  little  afraid  that  if  we  stay  longer,  that 
crippled  train  will  run  away  and  leave  us  behind." 

"  Then  good  night  to  the  Diamond  Pool,"  said  Morton,  as 
they  left  the  place.  "  I  shall  not  forget  it ;  I  owe  it  double 
thanks.  It  has  shown  me  a  pretty  landscape,  and  made  me  a 
wiser  man." 

"  I  can  hardly  see  how  that  may  be." 

"  It  has  taught  me  not  to  speak  too  earnestly  with  my 
friend,  lest  she  should  banter  me  ;  and  by  no  means  to  be 
drawn  into  any  absurdity,  lest  she  should  laugh  at  me  out 
right." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  you  thought  that  I  laughed  at  you  ?  " 

"  Did  you  not  ?  " 

"  If  I  gave  you  cause  to  think  that  I  did,  I  can  only  say, 
frankly  and  heartily,  that  I  am  very  sorry  for  it." 


VASSALL    MOKTON.  89 

"  Now  I  am  emboldened  to  be  absurd  again,  and  speak 
more  parables.  I  have  found  a  locked-up  treasure  —  a  sealed 
fountain.  I  long  to  open  it,  but  cannot." 

"  Your  figures  are  too  deep  for  me.  I  can  make  nothing 
of  them." 

"  Then  I  will  sink  to  plain  prose.  I  have  a  friend  whose 
heart  is  full  of  warm  feeling  and  earnest  thought ;  but,  out 
of  reserve,  or  Heaven  knows  what,  she  will  express  it  to 
nobody  but  one  or  two  intimate  companions.  She  tantalizes 
the  rest  with  a  bantering  word  ;  and  sometimes,  when  she  is 
most  in  earnest,  she  seems  to  be  most  in  jest.  But  why  do 
you  smile  ? " 

"Ask  your  friend  Mr.  Sharpe.  He  is  your  friend  —  is 
he  not  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  so,  though  he  is  old  enough  to  be  my  father. 
But  why  should  I  ask  him  ?  " 

"  Because  he  once  described  to  me  a  person  very  much 
like  the  one  you  have  just  described." 

"  Who  was  the  person  ?  " 

a  Mr.  Sharpe  said  that,  though  he  was  in  general  quite 
frank  and  undisguised,  yet,  if  he  were  particularly  in  earnest 
on  any  subject,  he  was  apt  to  speak  lightly  of  it,  or  perhaps 
ridicule  it,  to  hide  his  real  feeling." 

"  Pray,  who  was  this  person  ?     What  was  his  name  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Vassall  Morton." 

"  Did  Sharpe  say  that  of  me  ?  It  is  not  a  month  since  I 
was  walking  with  him,  —  his  evening  constitutional,  —  and 
he  said  the  very  same  thing  of  you.  Now,  as  I  hope  to  live 
8* 


90  TASSALL   MOKTON. 

an  honest  man,  I  was  never  half  so  much  flattered  in  my  life, 
as  by  being  slandered  in  such  company." 

Here  he  was  interrupted  abruptly,  for,  turning  a  corner, 
they  came  full  upon  the  inn,  or  hotel,  as  its  sign  proclaimed 
it  to  be.  Discontented  male  passengers  were  lounging  about 
the  bar  room  ;  disconsolate  female  passengers  sat,  in  bonnets 
and  shawls,  in  the  parlor ;  and  an  unspeakable  air  of  uneasi 
ness  and  discomfort  pervaded  the  whole  place. 

"  Our  walk  is  over,"  sighed  Morton ;  "  I  wish  it  had  a 
more  propitious  ending.  And  now  let  me  be  your  courier,  or 
do  your  commands  in  any  other  capacity  in  which  I  can 
serve  you." 

At  eleven  o'clock  that  night  the  train  rolled  into  the  station 
house  at  Boston,  some  four  hours  behind  its  time. 

"  My  father  will  certainly  be  here,"  said  Miss  Leslie ;  but 
her  father  was  nowhere  to  be  seen.  Morton  conducted  her 
to  a  carriage.  Her  trunks  and  his  own  had  already  been 
placed  upon  it,  when,  by  the  lantern  of  one  of  the  porters, 
Morton  descried  the  agitated  colonel  threading  the  crowd  in 
anxious  search  of  his  daughter.  He  had  been  waiting  ner 
vously  since  seven  o'clock,  and,  when  the  train  came  in,  had 
looked  for  her  in  every  place  but  the  right  one.  Morton 
hastened  to  relieve  his  fears. 

"  What  do  you  mean  to  do  with  yourself  to-night  ?  " 
Leslie  asked,  as  the  carriage  drove  towards  his  house. 

"  Drive  to  my  house  in  the  country." 

"Your  people  will  not  expect  you,  and  will  be  in  bed 
before  you  can  get  there.  You  had  much  better  come  home 
with  me." 


VASSALL    MOKTON.  91 

Morton  was  but  too  glad  to  accept  the  invitation. 

Having  bade  good  night  to  his  host  and  his  host's  daugh 
ter,  he  passed  some  hours  in  dreamy  cogitation  ;  then  tried 
to  sleep ;  but  sleep  long  kept  aloof,  the  consciousness  of  being 
under  the  same  roof  with  Edith  Leslie  brought  with  it  so 
strange  a  sensation.  But  as  delicate  health,  that  grand 
auxiliary  of  sentiment,  was  quite  unknown  to  him,  nature 
prevailed  in  the  end,  and  at  seven  the  next  morning,  a  ser 
vant's  knock  wakened  him  from  a  deep  sleep,  a  vision  of 
Mount  Katahdin,  and  an  imaginary  moose  hunt. 


CHAPTER   XV. 

Yet  even  these  joys  dire  jealousy  molests, 

And  blackens  each  fair  image  in  our  breasts. —  Lyttldon. 

DESCENDING  to  the  breakfast  room,  he  found  Leslie,  as 
usual,  quiet,  cordial,  and  gentlemanly,  beguiling  the  moments 
of  expectancy  with  a  newspaper,  while  his  daughter  presided 
at  the  coffee  urn.  Leslie  happened  to  be  in  a  garrulous  mood, 
and  talked  incessantly  about  his  former  military  frontier  life, 
of  which,  though  he  had  detested  it  in  the  experience,  he  was 
very  fond  in  the  retrospect.  Morton,  who  had  some  acquaint 
ance  with  such  matters,  was  a  tempting  auditor,  though  he 
would  gladly  have  exchanged  the  profuse  anecdotes  of  white- 
wolf  running  and  deer  shooting  for  a  few  moments'  conver 
sation  with  Miss  Edith  Leslie.  This  her  father's  busy  tongue 
put  out  of  the  question ;  but  Morton  consoled  himself  with 
the  thought  that  to  bask  in  her  presence  was,  in  itself,  no 
mean  privilege. 

His  cup  of  nectar,  such  as  it  was,  was  in  a  few  minutes 
dashed  with  gall ;  for  the  street  door  opened  without  a  sum 
mons  from  the  bell,  a  man's  step  sounded  in  the  hall,  and 
Horace  Vinal  came  in,  with  a  bundle  of  papers  in  his  hand. 

Vinal  had  become  of  late  all-important  to  his  former  guar 
dian.  He  was  his  chief  business  agent,  and  Leslie  was  never 

(92) 


VASSALL   MORTON.  93 

tired  of  expatiating  on  his  talents,  energy,  application,  and 
elevated  character.  In  short,  he  was  fast  becoming  depend 
ent  on  him,  and  felt  towards  him  the  affection  which  a  weak 
and  kindly  man  may  feel  towards  one  of  far  greater  force  and 
capacity,  whom,  he  believes  sincerely  attached  to  him  and 
devoted  to  his  interests. 

Vinal,  as  he  entered,  had  the  air  of  a  man  versed  in  affairs, 
and  acquainted  both  with  that  vast  and  various  theatre  which 
men  call  the  world,  and  with  those  conventional  circles 
which  ladies  call  the  world.  He  had  been  absent  for  a  few 
days  on  a  mission  of  business,  from  which  he  had  returned 
the  evening  before.  Leslie  received  him  with  a  most  warm 
greeting,  and  his  daughter  with  a  smile  of  easy  friendship, 
which  was  wormwood  to  the  troubled  spirit  of  Morton.  The 
two  rivals  —  for  such,  by  a  common  instinct,  each  felt  the 
other  to  be  —  regarded  each  other  with  faces  of  courtesy  and 
hearts  of  wrath. 

"  How  came  this  fellow  here  ?  "  thought  Vinal,  as  he  smil 
ingly  grasped  his  classmate's  hand. 

"  The  devil  take  him ! "  thought  Morton,  as  he  returned 
the  greeting,  but  with  a  much  worse  grace. 

They  seated  themselves  on  opposite  sides  of  the  table, 
while  the  Helen  who  had  kindled  this  covert  warfare  in  their 
breasts  dispensed  a  cup  of  coffee  to  each  in  turn. 

There  was  a  singular  contrast  between  the  adversaries. 
On  the  one  side,  the  self-dependent  Vinal,  with  little  health 
and  no  other  wealth  than  his  busy  and  able  brain  ;  with  thin 
features,  wan  cheek,  and  pale,  firm  lip  ;  with  piercing  obser 
vation  and  rapid  judgment ;  self-contained,  self-controlled, 


94  VASSALL    MOBTON. 

self-coniiding.     But  for  his  measuring  five  feet  ten,  he  might 
have  stood  for  Dryden's  Achitophel :  — 

"  A  fiery  soul,  which,  working  out  its  way, 
Fretted  the  pygmy  body  to  decay, 
And  o'er  informed  the  tenement  of  clay." 

On  the  other  side  sat  the  pet  of  fortune,  fondled,  if  he 
could  have  endured  such  blandishment,  in  the  very  lap  of 
affluence  ;  with  a  cheek  brown  with  wind  and  weather,  and 
an  eye  which,  as  he  often  boasted,  could  look  the  sun  in  the 
face.  His  nature  was  so  happily  tempered,  that  to  the  degree 
of  nervous  stimulus  which  engenders,  or  is  engendered  by,  an 
energetic  character,  he  joined  an  indefinite  capacity  both  of 
endurance  and  enjoyment ;  and  yet  the  possessor  of  all  these 
gifts  was  just  now  in  a  mood  of  extreme  dissatisfaction  and 
discomfort. 

Leslie  began  to  speak  with  Vinal  upon  business.  Morton 
snatched  the  opportunity  to  converse  with  the  person  most 
interesting  to  him.  Vinal  glanced  at  him  askance.  Each 
began  to  hate  the  other,  after  his  own  fashion.  Morton 
would  gladly  have  come  to  open  rupture,  and  flung  defiance  at 
his  rival ;  but  Vinal  was  far  remote  from  any  wish  of  the  kind. 

Morton  remained  at  the  house  as  long  as  he  in  decency 
could,  and  then  bade  them  good  morning,  execrating  Vinal 
as  he  went  down  the  steps. 

That  very  afternoon,  as  he  was  walking  near  his  cottage  in 
the  country,  ruminating  on  Edith  Leslie  and  Horace  Vinal, 
he  raised  his  head  and  saw  a  lady  and  gentleman,  on  horse 
back,  emerging  into  view  from  a  wooded  bend  of  the  road. 


VASSALL    MORTON.  95 

A  thrill  ran  through  him  from  head  to  foot.  They  were  the 
two  persons  of  whom  he  was  thinking.  He  bowed  to  Miss 
Leslie.  She  replied  with  a  frank  bow  and  smile  ;  and  Vinal, 
as  he  passed,  made  an  easy  nonchalant  gesture  of  recognition. 
The  jealous  pedestrian  turned  and  looked  after  them.  They 
had  ridden  a  few  rods  when  Vinal  also  turned  his  head,  but, 
catching  Morton's  eye,  instantly  averted  it  again.  Morton 
fairly  ground  his  teeth  with  anger  and  vexation.  To  be  jeal 
ous  was  bad  enough  ;  but  that  Vinal  should  be  conscious  of 
his  jealousy,  and  perhaps  triumph  in  it,  goaded  him  beyond 
endurance.  He  went  home,  saddled  and  bridled  a  horse  with 
his  own  hands,  mounted,  and  ranged  the  country  for  an 
hour  or  two,  to  get  rid  of  the  vulture  that  was  preying  on 
him.  At  length  he  grew  more  rational,  and  was  able  to 
reflect  that  Vinal' s  riding  with  Miss  Leslie  did  not  necessa 
rily  imply  that  he  stood,  in  any  special  sense,  within  her 
favor,  since  he  was  the  "near  relative  of  her  mother-in-law, 
and  had  formerly  been  for  years  an  inmate  of  her  father's 
house. 

On  the  next  day,  at  a  time  when  he  thought  that  Vinal 
must  be  safe  in  his  office,  Morton  took  heart  of  grace,  and 
called  on  Miss  Leslie.  An  old  woman,  an  ancient  dependant 
of  the  family,  raised,  as  she  would  have  phrased  it,  in  the 
backwoods  of  Matherton,  opened  the  door. 

"  Is  Miss  Leslie  alt  home  ? " 

"  No  ;  she  was  took  sick  yesterday,  very  sudden." 

"  Miss  Leslie  !  "  ejaculated  the  visitor. 

"  Yes  ;  the  doctor  says  she's  goin'  to  die,  sartin ;  right 
away,  may  be." 


96  VASSALL    MORTON. 

"  What  ?  "  gasped  Morton. 

"  It  wasn't  only  this  morning  we  heered  on  it,"  said  the 
old  Yankee  housekeeper,  "  and  Miss  Edith's  gone  up  to 
Matherton,  to  tend  on  her." 

"  O,  you  mean  Mrs.  Leslie." 

"  Yes  ;  Miss  Leslie,  Miss  Edith's  mother-in-law  ;  she  never 
was  a  well  woman,  ever  since  I've  knowed  her." 

And  the  old  woman  closed  the  door  ;  while  Morton  walked 
away,  without  knowing  in  what  direction  he  was  moving. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

Sganarefte.    0,  la  grande  fatigue  quo  d'avoir  une  femme,  et  qu'Aristote  a  bieu 
raison  quand  il  dit  qu'une  femme  est  pire  qu'un  d6mon  I  —  Le  Mededn  Ma2gr6  Lui. 

Thus  day  by  day  and  month  by  month  we  past ; 
It  pleased  the  Lord  to  take  my  spouse  at  last  — Pope. 

IT  was  nine  years  since,  in  an  evil  hour,  Leslie  had  first 
seen  Miss  Cynthia  Everille,  playing  on  a  harp,  and  accom 
panying  herself  in  a  thin,  sweet  voice,  with  words  of  her 
own  composing.  His  weak  heart  succumbed :  he  fell  in  love 
off  hand  ;  and  within  a  year  after  the  death  of  his  first  wife, 
Edith's  mother,  her  picture  was  taken  from  the  wall,  and  a 
second  Mrs.  Leslie  reigned  in  her  stead. 

"  Sweet,"  —  "  charming,"  —  "  fascinating,"  —  were  the 
least  of  the  adjectives  lavished  on  the  interesting  bride. 
Some  of  his  lady  acquaintance  felicitated  him  that  he  had 
espoused  an  angel,  an  embodied  beatitude  not  more  than 
half  pertaining  to  this  world.  In  fact,  there  was  a  certain 
aerial  grace  in  her  movements,  a  certain  translucency  in  her 
small  alabaster  features,  which  might  countenance  such  a  no 
tion.  The  winning  smile,  too,  with  which  she  met  her  vis 
itors  on  her  reception  Thursdays,  savored  wholly  of  the 
angelic.  She  breathed  courtesies  around  her  as  the  beneficent 
royalty  of  Naples  scatters  sugar  plums  among  his  loving  sub- 
9  •  (97) 


98  YASSALL   MORTON. 

jects  at  the  carnival,  and,  on  the  next  day,  sends  them  to 
prison  by  the  cart  load. 

The  tyranny  of  the  strong  is  bad  enough  ;  but  the  tyranny 
of  the  weak  is  intolerable  ;  and  this  latter  visitation  came 
upon  Leslie  in  its  most  rueful  form — that,  namely,  whose 
weapons  are  sobs,  sighs,  vapors,  and  the  dire  coercion  of 
hysteric  fits.  He  was  a  soft-hearted  fool,  and  a  fair  subject 
for  such  oppression.  Not  that  his  newly-installed  mistress 
—  his  mistress,  since  she  made  him  her  slave  —  was  naturally 
of  an  ill  temper.  On  the  contrary,  she  was  somewhat  amia 
ble,  or,  at  least,  much  given  to  tears  and  tenderness  ;  but  in 
process  of  time,  this  profuse  sensibility  had  all  centred  on 
herself.  In  short,  she  was  profoundly  selfish,  though  nothing 
could  have  astonished  her  more  than  to  tell  her  so  ;  for,  in 
her  own  eyes,  she  seemed  a  miracle  of  sensibility,  as  indeed 
she  was,  though  her  sensibility  had  learned  to  give  little 
response  to  any  woes  but  her  own.  What  these  woes  might 
be  would  be  hard  to  say :  she  had  a  wonderful  talent  for 
finding  and  inventing  grievances.  She  was  submerged  and 
drowned  in  a  sentimental  melancholy,  which  wore  in  turn  ten 
thousand  different  aspects,  each  worse  than  the  other.  She 
was  a  sea-anemone,  covered  with  a  myriad  of  filaments,  all 
more  shrinking  and  sensitive  than  a  snail's  horns. 

One  reads  of  famished  wretches  who  have  tried  to  nourish 
life  from  the  current  of  their  own  veins.  So,  in  a  figurative 
sense,  did  she.  She  was  always  anatomizing  her  own  ridicu 
lous  heart ;  groping  among  the  depths  of  her  own  sickly 
fancies,  and  making  them  her  daily  food.  She  was  a  busy 
gatherer  of  tokens,  souvenirs,  and  mementoes,  and  was 


VASSALL    MORTON.  99 

beset  with  blighted  hopes,  vain  longings,  sad  remembrances, 
and  all  the  spectral  ills  engendered  between  a  frail  mind  and 
a  depraved  stomach.  She  was  a  great  reader,  and  floated 
rudderless  through  a  sea  of  books,  fishing  out  of  it  all  that 
was  tender,  morbid,  and  despairing,  and  stowing  it  up  in 
albums. 

It  may  be  thought  that  some  disconsolate  memory,  some 
affection  nipped  in  the  bud,  or  the  like  catastrophe,  had 
brought  her  to  this  pass.  Far  from  it.  She  mourned  that 
her  fate  had  been  too  flat  and  sterile ;  that  the  rapturous 
emotions  of  her  heart  had  never  been  awakened ;  that  no 
sentimental  passion,  in  short,  had  ever  stirred  her  soul  from 
its  depths.  This  was  the  grievance  which  rankled  most  in 
her  reveries.  To  give  her  her  due,  she  never  told  it  to  her 
husband ;  but  she  brooded  upon  it  in  secret ;  and  the  result 
was,  a  multitude  of  affecting  verses,  which  she  treasured  in 
her  album  as  anonymous. 

Leslie,  though  none  of  the  wisest  of  men,  was  one  of  the 
most  amiable ;  and,  under  his  wife's  discipline,  he  learned  to 
be  one  of  the  most  discreet.  It  behooved  him  to  be  watchful 
and  circumspect.  His  married  life  was  a  voyage  through 
shoals  and  shallows,  and  needed  sagacious  pilotage ;  for  no 
common  eye  could  see  where  the  danger  lay.  There  was  an 
endless  variety  of  subjects  tabooed  to  him;  matters  to  all 
appearance  quite  indifferent,  but  to  which  he  must  never 
allude,  because,  Heaven  knows  how,  they  touched  some  trem 
bling  susceptibility,  or  wakened  some  grievous  memory  from 
its  blessed  sleep.  The  penalty,  if  the  case  were  mild,  would 
be  a  deep-drawn  sigh ;  if  more  aggravated,  a  flood  of  tears ; 


100  VASSALL    MORTON. 

if  extreme,  an  hysteric  fit.  And  if,  in  his  efforts  to  console 
her,  he  ventured  to  add  any  thing  in  the  form  of  remon 
strance,  or  let  fall  any  word  which  might  intimate  that  her 
conduct  was  not  quite  reasonable,  the  outraged  sufferer  would 
cease  weeping,  cast  up  her  eyes  reproachfully,  and  murmuring, 
"  O  William,  is  it  come  to  this  ? "  relapse  again  instantly 
into  the  depths  of  sobbing  affliction.  It  was  only  by  the 
most  abject  submission,  coupled  with  all  the  resources  of 
conjugal  eloquence,  that  Leslie  could  succeed  at  length  in 
purchasing  a  look  of  resignation  and  a  faint  smile  of  for 
giveness. 

Use,  it  is  said,  will  blunt  the  sharpest  of  troubles.  In 
time,  he  became  acclimated  to  his  fate ;  yet,  on  one  or  two 
occasions,  his  equanimity  was  quite  overset.  He  thought 
that  his  wife  was  losing  her  wits ;  for,  as  he  came  into  her 
room,  she  fixed  on  him  a  melting  gaze,  sank  on  his  shoulder, 
and  flooded  him  with  such  a  freshet  of  tears,  that  he  might 
have  complained  with  De  Bracy,  that  a  water  fiend  possessed 
her.  The  truth  was,  she  had  just  been  musing  on  her  own 
dissolution,  and  imagining,  in  a  luxury  of  woe,  her  own  fu 
neral,  with  all  the  circumstance  of  that  sad  event.  As  she 
looked  around  and  bethought  her  how  desolate  that  chamber 
w  ould  be  when  she  was  gone,  and  how  each  trifle  that  had 
once  been  hers  would  be  treasured  by  those  she  left  behind, 
her  sensitive  heart  had  dissolved  in  tenderness,  and  produced 
the  hydraulic  demonstration  just  mentioned. 

This  libel  on  womankind  became  the  mother  of  a  pair  of 
twins  —  the  same  infant  prodigies  whom  Morton  had  seen  at 
the  White  Mountains.  Both  perished  at  the  age  of  seven, 


VASSALL    MORTON.  101 

their  precocious  brains  having  by  that  time  usurped  all  the 
vitality  of  their  miserable  little  bodies.  She  was  inconsolable 
at  their  death,  though,  while  they  lived,  her  delicate  nerves 
could  seldom  abide  their  presence  for  five  minutes  at  a  time. 

There  was  once  an  idiot,  who,  being  of  a  conciliating  tem 
per,  thought  to  appease  a  fire  and  persuade  it  to  go  out  by 
feeding  it  with  fuel  till  it  should  be  satisfied,  and  crave  no 
more.  On  the  same  principle  Leslie  tried  to  satisfy  the  ex 
acting  spirit  of  his  wife  by  a  most  watchful  and  anxious  de 
votion  to  all  her  whims ;  but  the  greater  his  devotion,  the 
more  exacting  she  grew.  She  felt  her  power,  and  used  it 
without  mercy.  She  was,  withal,  intolerably  jealous,  not  so 
much  of  any  living  rival,  as  of  the  memory  of  a  dead  one, 
Leslie's  former  wife.  Here,  indeed,  she  had  some  show  of 
reason ;  for  the  poles  are  not  wider  asunder  than  were  the 
characters  of  herself  and  her  predecessor. 

Those  who  had  known  the  latter  in  her  maidenhood  —  she 
married  young,  or  perhaps  she  would  never  have  married  Les 
lie  —  knew  her  as  the  dominant  belle  of  the  season,  conspic 
uous  for  her  beauty,  her  position,  and  for  a  degree  of  culture 
rare  in  America  at  that  time  ;  devoted  and  ardent  towards  a 
few  close  friends,  haughty  and  distant  towards  the  many ; 
greatly  loved  by  her  few  intimates,  and  either  greatly  admired 
or  greatly  disliked  by  most  others  around  her.  Those  who 
knew  her  in  the  last  years  of  her  life  knew  her  as  one  who 
had  passed  through  a  fiery  ordeal.  Of  her  many  children, 
only  one  was  left.  They  had  fallen  around  her  in  a  sudden 
and  sharp  succession,  till  it  seemed  to  her  that  a  destroying 
doom  had  gone  forth  against  her  race,  and  that  the  world  of 


102  VASSALL    MORTON. 

her  affections  was  turned  to  a  field  of  carnage.  Leslie  felt 
the  shock  acutely,  not  to  say  intensely,  for  a  while ;  but  the 
storm  passed,  and  left  on  him.  very  little  trace.  It  sank  into 
the  deeper  nature  of  his  wife  with  such  a  penetrating  sense 
of  the  vanity  of  life  and  the  rottenness  of  mortal  hope,  as,  in 
the  olden  time,  drew  saints  and  anchorites  to  renounce  the 
world  and  give  themselves  to  penance  and  seclusion.  It 
made  no  anchorite  of  her.  She  rose  from  her  baptism  of  fire 
saddened,  but  not  broken  nor  unstrung ;  with  a  rooted  faith 
and  an  absolute  resignation ;  a  nice  perception  of  all  human 
suffering;  sympathies  broad  and  embracing  as  the  air;  a 
benevolence  pervading  as  the  sunshine  ;  and  a  spirit  so  calm 
in  its  elevation  that  no  wind  of  calamity  had  power  to  ruffle  it. 
Edith  Leslie  was  a  child  when  her  mother  died,  yet  old 
enough  to  feel  the  loss  profoundly,  and  to  be  greatly  shocked 
and  cast  down  at  the  alacrity  with  which  her  father  contrived 
to  forget  it.  Having  reduced  Leslie  to  obedience,  his  bride 
essayed  the  same  experiment  on  his  daughter,  but  failed  no 
tably.  There  was  something  in  the  nature  of  the  latter  which 
revolted  so  impatiently  against  the  selfish  caprices  and  morbid 
fooleries  which  were  played  off  hourly  before  her,  —  she  was 
so  indignant,  moreover,  at  seeing  her  father  sunk  inch  by  inch 
in  the  slough  of  matrimonial  thraldom,  —  that  the  issue  might 
easily  have  been  a  protracted  household  feud.  None  but  her 
self  could  know  with  how  costly  an  effort  she  schooled  her 
self  to  patience.  With  a  caustic  wit,  and  a  fervent  fancy 
which  haunted  her  with  images  of  an  ideal  life  brighter  than 
the  work-day  world  around  her,  a  nature  with  impulses 
•which,  less  curbed  and  tempered,  might  have  carried  her 


VASSALL    MOKTON.  103 

through  all  the  mazes  of  morbid  rebellion,  she  still  bent  her 
self  to  accept  her  lot  as  she  found  it,  in  the  full  faith  that 
flowers  may  be  taught  to  grow  on  the  flintiest  soil.  And 
now  that  the  imagined  maladies  of  a  lifetime  were  turned  at 
last  into  a  mortal  reality,  and  her  step-mother  lay  on  her  death 
bed,  Edith  Leslie  watched  by  her  side  with  as  much  care  as 
if  this  wretched  piece  of  perverted  sensibility  had  deserved 
her  affection  and  esteem. 


CHAPTER    XVII. 


Bestrew  me,  but  I  love  her*eartily, 

For  she  is  wise,  if  I  can  judge  of  her; 

And  fair  she  is,  if  that  mine  eyes  be  true ; 

And  true  she  is,  as  she  hath  proved  herself; 

And  therefore,  like  herself,  wise,  fair,  and  true, 

Shall  she  be  placed  in  my  constant  soul.  —  MercMnt  of  Venice. 


A  WEEK  after  he  had  heard  the  tidings  from  the  old  house 
keeper,  Morton  saw  Dr.  Steele  coming  out  of  a  patient's  door 
and  getting  into  his  chaise. 

"  Good  morning,  Dr.  Steele." 

"  Sir,  your  servant,"  said  the  old-fashioned  doctor. 

"  I'm  sorry  to  hear  that  Mrs.  Leslie  is  so  ill." 

"  It's  very  sad,"  said  the  doctor.  "  Now,  what  the  dense 
is  this  young  fellow  stopping  me  for?  "  — this  was  his  inter 
nal  comment. 

"  I  hope  you  don't  despair  of  her." 

"  Well,  sir,  she  will  hold  out  to-morrow,  and  the  next 
day,  too." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon.  Your  check  rein  is  loose.  Let  me 
make  it  right." 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Morton,"  said  the  doctor,  somewhat  mol 
lified. 

"  Ahem !  —  Colonel  Leslie  is  well,  I  hope." 

"  Apparently  so,  sir." 

(104) 


VASSALL   MORTON.  105 

"  And  —  ahem !  —  his  family,  too,* 

"  I  wasn't  aware  he  had  a  family." 

"  I  mean  —  that  is  to  say  —  his  daughter  —  Miss  Leslie." 

The  shrewd  doctor  turned  his  gray  eyes  sideways  on  the 
querist. 

"Ah,  his  daughter.  What  did  you  wish  to  know  of 
her,  sir?" 

"  Merely  to  inquire "  said  Morton,  stammering  and 

blushing  visibly.  "  I  mean  only  to  ask  if  she  is  well." 

"  I  know  nothing  to  the  contrary.  She  seemed  very  well 
when  I  brought  her  down  from  Matherton  last  evening.  I 
dare  say,  though,  she  can  tell  you  herself  a  great  deal  better 
than  I  can.  Good  morning,  Mr.  Morton." 

And  with  a  slight  twinkle  in  his  eye,  Dr.  Steele  drove  off. 

Morton  looked  after  the  chaise,  as  it  lumbered  down  the 
street. 

"  May  I  be  hanged  and  quartered  if  I  ever  question  you 
again;  you  are  too  sharp,  by  half." 

The  doctor's  information  was  very  welcome,  however ;  and, 
armed  with  an  anxious  inquiry  after  her  mother's  health, 
Morton  proceeded  to  call  upon  Miss  Leslie.  She  had  come 
to  the  city,  as  he  had  already  judged,  on  some  mission  con 
nected  with  the  wants  of  the  invalid,  and  was  to  go  back  to 
Matherton,  with  Dr.  Steele,  in  the  afternoon. 

Thenceforward,  for  a  week  or  upwards,  he  saw  her  no  more ; 
but,  during  the  interval,  he  contrived,  by  various  expedients, 
to  keep  himself  advised  of  the  condition  and  movements  of 
the  family  at  Matherton.  Among  other  incidents,  he  became 
aware  of  two  visits  made  them  by  Vinal,  and  was  tormented, 


106  VASSALL    MORTON. 

in  consequence,  with  an  unutterable  jealousy.  One  morning 
he  met  the  purblind  old  housekeeper,  mousing  along  in  spec 
tacles  through  the  crowded  street,  and,  stopping  her,  to  her 
great  alarm  and  perplexity,  he  made  his-  usual  inquiry  con 
cerning  Mrs.  Leslie's  health.  This  investigation  led  to  the 
discovery  that  Miss  Edith  was  coming  from  Matherton  that 
very  afternoon. 

Morton,  upon  this,  grew  so  restless,  that  he  could  not 
refrain  from  going  to  the  railroad  station,  a  little  before  the 
train  was  to  come  in.  And  here  his  worst  fear  was  realized  ; 
for  he  beheld,  slowly  pacing  along  the  platform,  the  hated 
form  of  Horace  Vinal.  Morton  retreated  unseen,  went  into 
a  neighboring  hotel,  and  seated  himself,  a  little  withdrawn 
from  a  window,  where  he  could  see  all  that  passed.  The 
train  arrived ;  and  soon  after  Vinal  appeared,  conducting 
Miss  Leslie  to  a  carriage,  with  an  air,  as  Morton  thought,  of 
the  most  anxious  devotion.  He  grasped  his  walking  stick, 
and  burned  with  a  feverish  longing  to  break  it  across  his 
rival's  back. 

He  saw  Miss  Leslie  on  the  next  day,  and  thus  added  fuel 
to  a  flame  which  already  burned  high  enough.  In  short,  he 
found  himself  in  that  most  profoundly  serious  and  profoundly 
ridiculous  of  all  conditions,  the  condition  of  being  over  head 
and  ears  in  love, — and  his  zeal  for  science  was  merged  utterly 
in  a  more  engrossing  devotion.  By  one  means  or  another,  he 
contrived  to  keep  pace  with  the  course  of  things  at  Mather- 
ton,  and  learned  from  day  to  day  that  Mrs.  Leslie  was  worse, 
—  that  she  seemed  to  revive  a  little,  —  that  she  was  on  the 
point  of  death,  —  that  she  was  dead.  By  the  time  this  sad 


VASSALL    MORTON.  107 

climax  was  reached,  he  had  been  starving  a  fortnight  from  the 
sight  of  his  mistress,  having  the  consolation  to  know  that 
meantime  his  rival  had  made  at  least  four  visits  to  Matherton. 

One  morning  Morton  was  pacing  the  street  in  an  abstracted 
mood,  his  looks  bent  on  the  bricks,  when,  chancing  to  look 
up,  he  saw  those  very  eyes  which  his  fancy  had  been  that 
moment  picturing,  employed  in  guiding  their  owner's  steps 
over  a  crossing  towards  him.  As  Edith  Leslie  stepped  upon 
the  sidewalk,  she  saw  him  for  the  first  time.  He  bowed, 
joined  her,  spoke  a  few  bungling  words  of  condolence,  and 
walked  on  at  her  side.  After  the  fashion  of  those  who  are 
peculiarly  anxious  to  appear  at  their  best  advantage,  he 
appeared  at  his  worst.  And  when  his  companion  bade  him 
good  morning  on  the  steps  of  her  father's  house,  she  left  him 
in  a  most  unenviable  mood,  muttering  maledictions  against 
himself  and  his  fate,  and  brought,  indeed,  to  the  borders  of 
despair.  This  depression,  however,  was  not  long  in  produ 
cing  its  reaction,  under  the  influence  of  which,  adopting  his 
usual  panacea  against  mental  ailments,  he  mounted  his  horse, 
and  spurred  into  the  country. 

Here,  about  sunset,  he  beheld  a  horseman,  slowly  pacing 
along  the  road  in  front.  On  this,  he  drew  rein,  and  began  to 
look  about  him  for  the  means  of  escape  ;  for  in  the  person  of 
the  rider  he  recognized  his  classmate  Wren,  to  whose  society 
he  was  far  from  partial.  Neither  lane  nor  by-road  was  to 
be  seen. 

"  At  the  worst,"  he  thought,  "it  is  but  a  mile  or  two  ;  " 
and,  setting  forward  at  a  trot  again,  he  was  in  a  moment  at 
his  classmate's  side. 


108  VASSAI/L   MORTON. 

"  How  are  you,  Wren  ?  " 

"  Ah.  Morton,  good  evening,"  exclaimed  Wren,  with  a 
graceful  wave  of  his  hand.  "  I'm  delighted  to  see  you.  A 
charming  evening  —  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  Charming." 

"  That's  a  fine  horse  you  have." 

"  Tolerably  good." 

"  Did  you  ever  observe  this  fellow  that  I'm  riding  ?  Do 
you  see  how  long  and  straight  he  is  in  the  back  ?  Well, 
that's  the  Arab  blood  that's  in  him.  His  grandfather  was  a 
superb  Arab,  that  the  Pacha  of  Egypt  gave  my  uncle  when 
he  was  travelling  there ;  "  and  he  proceeded  to  dilate  at  large 
on  the  merits  and  pedigree  of  his  horse,  the  truth  being  that 
he  and  his  ancestry  before  him  had  been  born  and  bred  in 
the  State  of  Vermont.  Morton  listened  with  civil  incredulity, 
and  wished  his  companion  at  the  antipodes. 

"  Ah,  there's  my  cousin's  house,"  exclaimed  Wren,  point 
ing  to  a  very  pretty  cottage  and  grounds  which  they  were 
approaching  —  "  Mary  Holyoke,  you  know  —  Mary  Everard 
that  was  some  three  months  ago.  What  a  delightful  retreat 
for  the  honeymoon  !  " 

"  Very,"  said  Morton. 

"  Stop  there  with  me,  will  you  ?  I'm  going  in  for  a  few 
minutes,  to  wish  them  a  pleasant  journey.  They. are  going 
to  Niagara  to-morrow." 

"  Thank  you,  I  believe  I  won't  stop." 

"  As  you  please,  my  dear  fellow.  I  think  they  are  quite 
right  to  travel  now ;  it's  a  better  season  than  the  spring ;  and 
a  honeymoon  journey,  after  all,  isn't  all  romance,  you  know. 


VASSALL    MORTON.  109 

Besides,  they  are  going  to  have  a  charming  companion  — 
Miss  Leslie." 

"  I  thought  that  she  had  just  lost  her  mother-in-law." 

"  That's  the  very  thing.  She's  almost  ill  with  watching 
night  after  night;  so  Mary,  —  they  used  to  be  friends  at 
school,  —  has  been  very  anxious  that  she  should  make  the 
journey  with  them,  for  a  change  of  scene,  you  know,  —  and 
Colonel  Leslie  has  persuaded  her  to  go." 

"  When  will  they  leave  town  ?  " 

"  To-morrow.  They  mean  to  spend  a  few  days  at  Trenton, 
and  then  go  to  the  Falls.  But  here  we  are ;  won't  you 
change  your  mind,  and  come  in  ?  " 

"  No,  thank  you.     Good  night." 

"  Good  evening,  then ;  "  and  waving  his  hand  again,  Wren 
trotted  up  the  avenue. 

"  Virtue  never  goes  unrewarded,"  thought  Morton ;  "  if  I 
hadn't  joined  the  fellow,  I  might  not  have  known  about  this 
journey." 

On  the  next  day  he  discovered  that  they  had  actually  gone, 
and  that,  as  Wren  had  said,  Niagara  was  to  be  the  ultimatum 
of  their  tour.     On  the  following  morning,  he  himself  took 
the  western  train,  and  made  all  speed  for  the  Falls. 
10 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

If  folly  grows  romantic,  I  must  paint  it.  —  Pope. 

ON  the  American  side  of  the  Niagara,  a  few  miles  below 
the  Falls,  is  a  deep  chasm,  bearing  the  inauspicious  christen 
ing  of  the  Devil's  Hole.  Near  it  there  is  —  or  perhaps  was, 
for  things  have  changed  thereabouts  —  a  path  winding  far 
down  among  rocks  and  forests,  till  it  leads  to  the  brink  of 
the  river.  Here,  darkened  by  the  beetling  cliffs  and  sombre 
forests,  the  Niagara  surges  on  its  way,  like  a  compressed 
ocean,  raging -to  break  free.  At  the  verge  of  this  watery 
convulsion  stood  Holyoke  and  his  wife,  Miss  Leslie,  and 
Morton,  whom  they  had  chanced  to  meet  that  morning. 

"  It  is  very  fine,  no  doubt,"  said  the  good-natured,  though 
very  shallow  Mrs.  Holyoke,  "  but  I  have  no  mind  to  take 
cold  in  these  dark  woods.  If  we  stay  much  longer,  I  believe  I 
I  shall  go  mad,  looking  at  that  rushing,  foaming  water,  and 
throw  myself  in.  Come,  Harry,  let  us  go  back  to  daylight 
again." 

"  Just  as  you  please,"  said  the  model  husband,  offering 
his  arm. 

"  Come,  Edith  ;  —  why,  she  really  seems  to  like  it ;  — 
Edith  !  —  she  don't  hear  me  ;  no  wonder,  in  all  this  noise  ; 

(110) 


VASSALL    MORTON.  Ill 

—  Edith,  we  are  going  back  to  the  upper  world.  You  can 
stay  here,  if  you  please,  with  Mr.  Morton." 

But  Miss  Leslie  chose  to  follow  her  friend ;  while  Morton 
aided  her  up  the  rough  path. 

"  I  have  observed,"  he  said,  as  they  came  to  smoother 
ground,  "  in  our  excursions  yesterday  and  to-day,  that  Mrs. 
Holyoke  has  not  much  of  your  liking  for  rocks,  trees,  and 
water.  I  mean,  that  she  has  no  great  taste  for  nature." 

"  At  all  events,  she  has  an  eye  for  what  is  picturesque  in 
it.  She  is  an  artist,  you  know,  and  paints  in  water  colors 
extremely  well." 

"  Yes,  and  whenever  she  sees  a  landscape,  she  thinks  only 
how  it  would  look  on  paper  or  canvas,  and  judges  it  accord 
ingly.  That  is  not  a  genuine  love  of  nature.  One  does  not 
value  a  friend  for  good  looks,  or  dress,  or  air ;  and  so,  in 
the  same  way,  is  not  a  true  fondness  for  nature  independ 
ent,  to  some  extent  at  least,  of  effects  of  form,  or  color,  or 
grouping  ?  " 

"  It  does  not  imply,  I  think,  any  artistic  talent,  or  even  a 
good  eye  for  artistic  effect.  And  yet  I  cannot  conceive  of  a 
greaNandscape  artist  being  without  it,  any  more  than  a  great 
poet." 

"If  he  were,  he  would  be  no  better  than  a  refined  scene 
painter.  We  are  in  a  commercial  country  ;  so  pardon  me  if 
I  use  commercial  language.  This  liking  for  nature  is  a  capi 
tal  investment.  She  is  always  a  kind  mistress,  a  good  friend, 
always  ready  with  a  tranquillizing  word,  never  inconstant, 
never  out  of  humor,  never  sad." 

"  And  yet  sometimes  she  can  speak  sadly,  too." 


112  VASSALL   MORTON. 

Edith  Leslie  said  no  more  ;  but  there  came  before  her  the 
remembrance  of  her  long  watchings  in  the  room  of  the  dying 
Mrs.  Leslie,  when,  seated  by  the  window,  open  in  the  hot 
summer  nights,  she  had  listened,  hour  after  hour,  mournfully, 
drearily,  almost  with  superstitious  awe,  to  the  chirping  of  the 
crickets,  the  plaintive  cry  of  the  whippoorwill,  and  now  and 
then  the  hooting  of  a  distant  owl. 

"  Here  in  America,"  continued  Morton,  "  we  ought  to 
make  the  most  of  this  feeling  for  nature ;  for  we  have  very 
little  else." 

"  And  yet  there  is  less  of  it  here  than  in  some  other 
countries  ;  in  England,  for  instance." 

"  We  are  too  busy  for  such  vanities.  Besides,  we  are  just 
now  in  an  unlucky  position.  A  wilderness  is  one  thing ; 
savageness  and  solitude  have  a  character  of  their  own ;  and 
so  has  a  polished  landscape  with  associations  of  art,  poetry, 
legend,  and  history." 

"  And  we  have  destroyed  the  one,  and  have  not  yet  found 
the  other." 

"  And  so,  between  two  stools  we  fall  to  the  ground." 

"  If  you  have  a  liking  for  a  wilderness  and  primitive 
scenery,  I  don't  think  that  you  have  much  reason  to  com 
plain  ;  for  you,  at  least,  have  contrived  to  see  something  of 
them." 

"  And  you  of  the  other  sort ;  art  and  history  wedded  to 
nature  ;  at  Tivoli,  for  example,  —  at  the  Lake  of  Albano  ; 
where  else  shall  I  say  ?  " 

"  Say,  at  Giardini,  in  Sicily." 

"  Why  at  Giardini  ?     I  never  heard  of  it  before." 


VASSALL    MORTON.  113 

"  Not  that  the  view  there  is  finer  than  in  some  other 
places,  though  towards  evening  it  is  very  beautiful.  You 
see  the  ocean  on  one  side,  and  the  mountains  on  the  other, 
covered  to  the  top  with  orange,  lemon,  and  olive  trees,  and 
Mount  Etna  rising  above  them  all,  with  a  spire  of  white 
smoke  curling  out  of  its  crater,  tinted  with  red,  yellow,  and 
purple,  where  the  sunset  strikes  it.  On  the  mountain  above 
you  there  is  an  ancient  theatre,  where  a  Greek  audience 
once  sat  on  the  stone  benches,  and  after  them,  in  their  turn, 
a  Roman.  On  the  peak  of  the  mountain  over  it  is  a  Saracen 
castle,  and,  not  far  off,  a  Norman  tower." 

"  So  that  the  whole  is  an  embodiment  of  poetry  and 
history  from  the  days  of  the  Odyssey  downwards." 

"  Nobody,  I  think,  who  has  seen  that  eastern  shore  of 
Sicily  can  have  escaped  without  some  strong  impression  from 
it.  The  Fourrierites,  you  know,  pretend  to  believe  that  the 
earth  is  a  living  being,  with  a  soul,  only  a  larger  one,  like 
ours  that  creep  on  the  outside  of  it.  One  is  sometimes 
tempted  to  adopt  their  idea,  and  fancy  that  the  changing 
face  of  nature  is  the  expression  of  the  earth's  thoughts,  and 
its  way  of  communicating  with  us." 

"  A  landscape  will  sometimes  have  a  life  and  a  language, 
—  that  is,  when  one  happens  to  be  in  the  mood  to  hear  it,  — 
and  yet,  after  all,  association  is  commonly  the  main  source, 
of  its  power.  The  Hudson,  I  imagine,  can  match  the  Rhine 
in  point  of  mere  beauty  ;  but  a  few  ruined  castles,  with  the 
memories  about  them,  turn  the  tables  dead  against  us." 

"  You  have  always  —  have  you  not  ?  — -  had  a  penchant  for 
the  barbarism  of  the  middle  ages." 
10* 


114  VASSALL    MOKTON. 

"  Not  for  their  barbarism,  but  for  the  germs  of  civilization 
that  lay  in  the  midst  of  it.  Religion  towards  God,  devotion 
towards  women  —  these  were  the  vital  ideas  of  the  middle 
ages." 

"  But  how  were  those  ideas  acted  on  ?  Their  religion  was 
not  much  better  than  a  mass  of  superstitions." 

"  Not  more  gross  and  vulgar  than  the  spirit  rapping  super 
stition,  the  last  freak  into  which  this  age  of  reason  has  stum 
bled.  And,  for  the  other  idea,  the  fundamental  idea  of 
chivalry,  we  are  beginning  to  replace  it  with  woman's  rights, 
Heaven  deliver  us  !  " 

"  Pardon  me  if  I  doubt  whether  ladies  in  the  middle  ages 
were  better  treated  than  they  are  now.  The  theory  was  ad 
mirable,  no  doubt,  but  the  practice,  if  there  were  any,  seems 
at  this  distance  a  little  ridiculous." 

"  Chivalry  was  like  Don  Quixote,  who  stands  for  it  — 
fantastic  and  absurd  enough  on  the  outside,  but  noble  at 
the  core." 

"  But  you  would  not  imply  seriously  that  you  would  pre 
fer  the  age  of  chivalry  to  this  nineteenth  century." 

"  No,  the  reign  of  shopkeepers  is  better  than  the  reign  of 
cutthroats.  But  the  nineteenth  century  has  no  right  to 
abuse  the  middle  ages.  The  best  feature  of  its  civilization  is 
handed  down  from  them.  That  feeling  which  found  a  place 
in  the  rough  hearts  of  our  northern  ancestry,  half  savages  as 
they  were,  and  gave  to  their  favorite  goddess  attributes  more 
high  and  delicate  than  any  with  which  the  Greeks  and  Ro 
mans,  at  the  summit  of  their  refinement,  ever  invested  their 
Venus ;  the  feeling  which  afterwards  grew  into  the  sentiment 


VASSALL    MORTON.  115 

of  chivalry,  and,  hand  in  hand  with  Christianity,  has  made 
our  modern  civilization  what  it  is,  —  that  is  the  heritage  we 
owe  to  the  middle  ages,  and  for  which  we  are  bound  to  be 
grateful  to  them.  It  was  a  flower  all  the  fairer  for  springing 
in  the  midst  of  darkness  and  barbarism ;  and  now  that  we 
have  it  in  a  kinder  soil,  we  can  only  hope  that  it  is  not  fast 
losing  its  fragrance  and  brightness." 

"  Of  that,  I  imagine,  a  woman  is  a  very  poor  judge ;  but 
if  it  has  lost  its  antique  freshness,  at  all  events  we  can  enjoy 
it  in  peace  and  tranquillity,  and  be  spared  the  risk  of  life  and 
limb  in  gathering  it.  Those  sweetbrier  blossoms  that  grow 
yonder,  down  the  side  of  the  precipice,  are  very  pretty,  but  it 
would  require  nothing  less  than  a  paladin,  or  a  knight  errant, 
made  crazy  with  the  hope  of  a  smile,  to  get  them  and  bring 
them  up." 

"  Now  it  is  you  that  asperse  the  present,  and  I  that  will 
defend  it."  And  the  words  were  hardly  spoken  before  the 
young  fool  was  over  the  edge  of  the  cliff,  scarcely  hearing  his 
companion's  startled  cry  of  remonstrance. 

The  rock  sloped  steeply  to  a  few  feet  below  the  spot  where 
the  brier  grew,  and  then  sank  in  a  sheer  precipice  of  a  hun 
dred  feet  or  more,  so  that  if  hand  or  foot  had  failed  him,  his 
career  would  have  ended  somewhat  abruptly.  To  the  spec 
tatress  above  the  danger  seemed  appalling ;  but,  with  the 
climber's  practised  eye  and  well-strung  sinews,  it  was  in  fact 
very  slight.  Once,  indeed,  a  fragment  of  stone  loosened 
under  his  foot,  and  fell  with  a  splintering  crash  upon  the 
rocks  below,  followed  by  a  shower  of  pebbles  and  gravel, 
rattling  among  the  trees.  But  he  soon  reached  his  prize, 


116  VASSALL    MORTON. 

secured  it  in  his  hatband,  and  grasping  the  friendly  root  of  a 
spruce  tree,  drew  himself  up  to  the  level  top  of  the  cliff. 

Here  he  saw  the  fruit  of  his  Quixotism.  Edith  Leslie, 
pale  as  death,  seemed  on  the  very  verge  of  fainting.  He 
sprang  in  great  consternation  to  her  aid,  supported  her  to  a 
rock  near  at  hand,  on  which  she  could  rest ;  and  as  her  mo 
mentary  dizziness  passed  away,  she  began  to  distinguish  his 
eager  words  of  apology  and  self-reproach. 

"  You  will  think  that  I  have  grown  backward  into  a  child 
again.  Think  what  you  will ;  I  deserve  your  worst  thought ; 
only  do  not  believe  that  I  could  fancy  such  paltry  exploits 
and  paltry  risks  could  be  a  tribute  worthy  of  you ;  or 
that  you  are  to  be  served  with  such  boy's  service  as  that. 
Here  are  the  flowers :  throw  them  away,  or  keep  them  as  a 
memento  of  my  absurdity  ;  but  let  them  remind  you,  at  the 
same  time,  that  wherever  your  wish  points,  there  I  would  go, 
if  it  were  into  the  jaws  of  fate." 

Here,  looking  up,  he  saw  the  expediency  of  curtailing  his 
eloquence ;  for  not  far  off  appeared  their  two  companions, 
returning  to  look  for  them.  Both  Miss  Leslie  and  he  had 
much  ado  to  explain,  the  one  why  her  face  was  so  pale,  the 
other  why  his  dress  was  so  dusty  and  disordered.  The  car 
riage  was  waiting  for  them  on  the  road  near  by ;  and  their 
morning's  excursion  being  finished,  they  proceeded  towards 
it,  Morton  leading  the  way  in  silence. 

His  first  feeling  had  been  one  of  compunction  and  indigna 
tion  at  himself;  but  close  upon  it  followed  another,  very  dif 
ferent —  a  sense  of  mixed  suspense  and  delight.  What 
augury  might  he  not  draw  from  the  pale  cheek  and  fainting 
form  of  his  companion  ? 


CHAPTER   XI 


For,  in  the  days  of  yore,  the  birds  of  parts 

Were  bred  to  speak,  and  sing,  and  learn  the  liberal  arts. 

The  Cock  and  the  Fox. 
Thine  is  the  adventure,  thine  the  victory ; 
Well  has  thy  fortune  turned  the  dice  for  thee. 

Palamvn  and  Arcite. 

DURING  the  rest  of  the  journey,  Morton,  on  Mrs.  Hoi- 
yoke's  invitation,  was  one  of  the  party.  Again  and  again 
he  was  impelled  to  learn  his  fate ;  but  recoiled  from  casting 
the  die,  dreading  that  his  hour  was  not  come.  Still,  though 
every  day  more  helplessly  spell-bound,  his  mood  was  not  de 
spondent. 

They  came  to  the  town  of ,  a  half  day  from  home. 

"My  household  gods  are  not  far  off,"  said  Morton.  "  My 
father  was  born  at  Steuben,  a  few  miles  below,  where  my 
grandfather  used  to  preach  against  King  George,  and  stir  up 
his  parish  to  rebellion.  I  have  relations  there  still,  and  have 
a  mind  to  spend  to-morrow  with  them." 

This  announcement  proceeded  much  less  from  family  affec 
tion  than  from  another  motive.  Mrs.  Holyoke  saw  it  in  an 
instant. 

"  Excellent !  Then  Miss  Leslie  can  accept  her  friend's 
invitation  to  make  a  day's  visit  at  this  place ;  and  you  will 
meet  her  and  escort  her  to  Boston." 

(117) 


, 


118  VASSALL    MORTON. 

And  Morton,  much  rejoiced  at  this  successful  issue  of  his 
diplomacy,  repaired  to  his  relatives  at  Steuben ;  Holyoke  and 
his  wife  proceeded  homeward ;  while  Miss  Leslie  remained  to 
accomplish  the  visit  with  her  country  friend. 

Morton  spent  a  quiet  day  in  the  primitive  New  England 
village,  a  place  of  which  boyish  association  made  him  fond. 
On  the  next  morning,  Miss  Leslie  was  to  come  to  Steuben, 
with  her  hostess  ;  but  as  there  was  an  abundance  of  time  be 
fore  the  train  would  appear,  he  strolled  along  a  quiet  road 
leading  back  into  the  country.  He  soon  came  to  an  old  inn, 
over  whose  tottering  porch  King  George's  head  might  once 
have  swung.  Nothing  human  was  astir.  The  ancient  lilacs 
flaunted  before  the  door ;  the  tall  sunflowers  peered  over  the 
garden  fence ;  the  primeval  well-sweep  slanted  aloft,  far 
above  the  mossy  shingles  of  the  roof.  The  rural  quiet  of  the 
place  tempted  him.  He  sat  under  the  porch,  and  watched  the 
swallows  sailing  in  and  out  of  the  great  barn  whose  doors 
stood  wide  open,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  road. 

A  voice  broke  the  silence  —  a  voice  from  the  barn  yard. 
It  was  the  voice  of  a  hen  mother,  the  announcement  that  an 
egg  was  born  into  the  world.  Not  the  proud,  exulting  cackle 
which  ordinarily  proclaims  that  auspicious  event,  but  a  repin 
ing,  discontented  cry,  now  rising  in  vehement  remonstrance 
with  destiny,  now  sinking  into  a  low  cluck  of  disgust.  Mor 
ton,  skilled  in  the  language  of  birds,  construed  these  melan 
choly  cacklings  as  follows  :  — 

"  Whither  does  all  this  tend  ?  Why  is  my  happiness 
blighted,  my  aspirations  repressed?  Why  am  I  forever 
penned  up  within  these  narrow  precincts,  amid  low  domestic 


VASSALL    MOKTON.  119 

cares,  and  sordid,  uncongenial,  unsympathizing  associates? 
And  thou,  my  white  and  spotless  offspring,  what  shall  be  thy 
fate  ?  To  be  steeped  in  hot  water,  and  eaten  with  a  spoon  ? 
Or  art  thou  to  be  the  germ  of  an  existence  wretched  as  my 
own,  doomed  to  a  ceaseless  round  of  daily  parturition  ?  O, 
weariness  !  O,  misery !  O,  despair !  " 

And  throwing  her  ruffled  feelings  into  one  indignant  cackle, 
the  hen  was  silent. 

The  advent  of  a  human  biped  here  enlivened  the  scene. 
This  was  a  young  gentleman  on  horseback,  a  collegian  to  all 
appearance,  admirably  mounted,  but  bestriding  his  horse  with 
the  look  of  one  who  has  just  passed  his  first  course  under  the 
riding  master,  and  rides  by  the  book,  as  Touchstone  quar 
relled.  This  important  personage,  with  an  air  oddly  com 
pounded  of  assumption  and  timidity,  proceeded  to  call  the 
hostler,  and  order  oats  for  his  horse,  after  which  he  strutted 
into  the  house,  switching  his  leg  with  his  whip. 

As  ample  time  remained,  Morton  continued  his  walk  along 
the  road,  his  mood  in  harmony  with  the  brightness  of  the 
morning.  He  was  in  a  humor  to  please  himself  with  trifles. 
A  ground  squirrel  chirruped  at  him  from  a  crevice  of  the  wall. 
He  stood  watching  the  small,  shy  visage,  as  it  looked  out  at 
him.  Then  a  red  squirrel,  a  much  livelier  companion,  uttered 
its  trilling  cry  from  a  clump  of  hazel  bushes.  Morton  seated 
himself  on  a  stone  very  near  it.  The  squirrel  resented  the 
intrusion,  ran  out  on  a  fence  rail  towards  the  offender,  chat 
tered,  scolded,  swelled  himself  like  a  miniature  muff,  made 
his  tail  and  his  whole  body  vibrate  with  his  wrath ;  then 
suddenly  dodged  down  behind  the  rail  and  peered  over  it  at 


120  VASSALL  MORTON. 

the  trespasser,  his  nose  and  one  eye  alone  being  visible  ;  then 
bolted  into  full  sight  again,  and  scolded  as  before,  jerking 
himself  from  side  to  side  in  the  extremity  of  his  petulance  ; 
till  at  last,  without  the  smallest  apparent  cause,  he  suddenly 
wheeled  about  and  fled,  bounding  like  the  wind  along  the  top 
of  the  stone  wall. 

This  interview  over,  Morton  looked  at  his  watch,  saw  that 
it  was  time  to  go  back  towards  the  village,  and  began  to 
retrace  his  steps  accordingly.  He  had  gone  but  a  few  paces, 
when  he  saw  a  countryman,  a  simple-looking  fellow,  running 
at  top  speed,  and  in  great  excitement,  up  a  byway,  which 
led  to  the  railroad,  the  latter  crossing  it  by  a  high  bridge,  at 
some  distance  from  the  station. 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  "  demanded  Morton. 

"  The  railroad  cars  !  "  gasped  the  countryman. 

"  What  of  them  ?  " 

"  They'll  all  go  to  smash,  and  no  mistake." 

"  What !  "  cried  Morton,  aghast. 

"  Fact,  mister.  Some  born  devil  has  been  and  sawed  the 
bridge  timbers  most  through  in  the  middle." 

"  What !  "  cried  Morton  again. 

"  Sure  as  I  stand  here  !  I  seen  the  heaps  of  sawdust  on 
the  road.  That's  the  way  I  come  to  take  notice.  The 
minute  the  locomotive  gets  on  the  bridge,  down  she'll  go, 
and  no  two  ways  about  it." 

Morton  had  no  doubt  that  the  man  was  right.  The  news 
papers,  within  the  last  few  weeks,  had  contained  various 
accounts  of  impediments,  great  and  small,  maliciously  placed 
on  railroads.  It  was  a  species  of  villany  which  was  just 


VASSALL    MORTON.  121 

then  having  its  run,  as  incendiarism  will  sometimes  have ; 
and  a  like  case  of  a  bridge  partly  sawed  through  had  lately 
occurred  in  a  neighboring  state. 

"  You  fool !  "  exclaimed  Morton,  in  anguish  and  despair ; 
"  why  didn't  you  get  on  the  track,  and  stop  the  train  ? " 

"  I'd  like  to  see  you  stop  the  train  !  "  retorted  the  man. 

Morton  turned  to  run  for  the  road,  bent  on  stopping  the 
engine,  or  letting  it  pass  over  him.  But  as  he  turned,  a  new 
arrival  caught  his  eye.  This  was  the  cavalier  who  had  baited 
his  horse  at  the  inn,  and  who,  seeing  the  excited  looks  of  the 
two  men,  had  checked  his  pace,  and  was  looking  at  them  with 
much  curiosity. 

Crazed  with  agitation,  and  hardly  knowing  what  he  did, 
Morton  leaped  towards  him,  seized  his  horse,  a  powerful  and 
high-mettled  animal,  by  the  head,  and,  with  a  few  broken 
words  of  explanation,  called  on  him  to  dismount.  The  aston 
ished  collegian  did  not  comply.  Morton  bore  back  fiercely 
on  the  bit ;  the  horse  plunged  and  snorted ;  the  rider  clutched 
the  pommel ;  Morton  took  him  by  the  arm,  drew  him  to  the 
ground,  mounted  at  a  bound  after  him,  and,  as  he  touched 
the  saddle,  struck  his  whalebone  walking  stick  with  all  his 
force  over  the  horse's  flank.  The  horse  leaped  forward  fran 
tically,  and  rushed  headlong  down  the  road.  His  discarded 
rider  saw  his  hoofs  twinkling  for  an  instant  out  of  the  cloud 
of  dust,  and  thought  he  had  had  a  Heaven-directed  escape 
from  a  madman. 

The  small  village  above  Steuben,  at  which  Miss  Leslie  and 
her  friend  were  to  take  the  train,  was  three  miles  off.  The 
road  ran  almost  directly  towards  it  for  more  than  three  fourths 
11 


122  VASSALL    MORTON. 

of  the  way,  when  it  made  a  bend  to  the  right.  Morton,  with 
his  furious  riding,  very  soon  reached  this  point.  He  could 
see  the  station  house  before  him,  on  the  left,  and  not  more 
than  a  third  of  a  mile  distant.  The  space  between,  though 
uneven,  had  no  visible  impediments  but  a  few  low  fences  and 
scattered  clumps  of  bushes.  Morton  pushed  through  the 
barberry  growth  that  fringed  the  road,  galloped  over  the  hard 
pasture,  leaped  one  fence,  passed  a  gap  in  another,  and  half 
way  to  his  goal,  found  himself  and  his  horse  in  a  quagmire. 
At  this  moment,  straining  his  eyes  towards  the  cluster  of 
houses,  he  saw,  with  agony  at  his  heart,  a  white  puff  of 
vapor  rising  above  the  trees  beyond.  Then  the  dark  outline 
of  the  train  came  into  view,  checking  its  way,  and  stopping, 
half  hidden  behind  the  buildings. 

Morton  knew  that  it  would  stop  only  for  a  moment,  and 
plied  his  horse  with  merciless  blows.  The  horse  plunged 
through  the  mire,  —  the  mud  and  water  spouting  high  above 
his  rider's  head,  —  gained  the  firm  ground,  and  bounded  for 
ward  wild  with  fright  and  fury.  It  was  too  late.  The  bell 
rang,  and  with  quicker  and  quicker  pants,  the  engine  began 
to  move.  Morton  shouted,  —  gesticulated,  —  still  it  did  not 
stop,  though  the  passengers  seemed  to  take  alarm,  for  a  head 
was  thrust  from  every  window,  while  the  occupants  of  an 
open  carriage  drawn  up  on  the  road  were  bending  eagerly 
towards  him. 

Morton  wheeled  to  the  left,  and  urged  his  horse  up  the 
embankment  in  front  of  the  train.  With  a  violent  effort,  ho 
reached  the  top.  The  engineer  was  running  against  timo, 
and  cared  for  nothing  but  winning  his  match.  He  blew  the 


VASSALL    MORTON.  123 

steam  whistle  ;  and  as  Morton  dragged  on  the  curb  with 
desperate  strength,  the  horse  reared  upright,  pawing  the  air. 
But,  as  he  rose,  Morton  disengaged  his  feet,  slid  over  the 
crupper  to  the  ground,  and  let  go  the  rein.  The  horse  leaped 
down  the  bank,  and  scoured  over  the  meadow,  mad  writh 
terror.  Morton  took  his  stand  in  the  middle  of  the  track, 
and  facing  the  advancing  train,  stood  immovable  as  a  post. 
The  engineer  reversed  the  engine,  brought  it  to  a  stand 
within  a  few  yards  of  him,  and,  with  a  profusion  of  oaths, 
demanded  what  he  wanted. 

Before  the  breathless  Morton  could  well  explain  himself, 
the  passengers  began  to  leap  out  of  the  cars,  and  running 
forward,  gathered  about  him.  He  soon  found  words  to  make 
the  case  known.  But  one  object  alone  engrossed  him.  He 
pushed  on  among  the  throng  of  questioning,  eager  men, 
mounted  the  foremost  car,  and  made  his  way  through  it,  the 
crowd  pushing  behind  and  around  him,  and  plying  him  with 
questions,  to  which,  in  the  confusion  and  abstraction  of  his 
faculties,  he  gave  wild  and  random  answers.  He  looked  at 
every  face.  Edith  Leslie  was  not  there.  He  crossed  the 
platform  into  the  next  car,  passed  through  it,  and  still  could 
not  find  her.  It  was  the  last  in  the  train.  And  now  a 
strange  feeling  came  over  him,  a  bitterness,  a  sense  of  disap 
pointment,  as  if  his  efforts  and  his  pangs  had  been  uncalled 
for  and  profitless  ;  for  so  intensely  had  his  thoughts  been 
concentred  on  one  object,  that  he  forgot  for  the  moment  the 
hundred  men  and  women  whom  he  had  saved  from  deadly 
jeopardy. 

The  train  rolled  back  to  the  station,  the  distance  being 


124  VASSALL    MORTON. 

only  a  few  rods.  Morton  got  out  and  leaned  against  the 
wall  of  the  house.  Men  thronged  about  him  with  questions, 
exclamations,  thanks,  praises.  The  reaction  of  his  violent 
emotion  produced  in  him  a  frame  of  mind  almost  childish. 
He  was  restless  to  free  himself  from  the  crowd. 

"  It's  nothing  ;  it's  nothing,"  he  answered,  as  fresh  praises 
were  showered  on  him.  "  I  saw  the  train  going  to  the  devil, 
and  did  what  I  could  to  save  it.  Any  of  you,  I  dare  say, 
would  have  done  as  much.  Be  good  enough  to  let  me  have 
a  little  air." 

The  crowd  gave  way,  and  he  walked  forward  past  the 
corner  of  the  building.  Here,  standing  on  the  road,  close  at 
hand,  he  suddenly  saw  an  open  carriage,  and  in  it,  pale  as 
death,  sat  Miss  Leslie,  with  her  friend,  and  a  boy  of  twelve, 
her  friend's  brother.  He  sprang  towards  it  with  an  irrepres 
sible  impulse. 

"  My  God  !  Miss  Leslie,  I  thought  you  were  in  the  train." 

"  And  so  we  should  have  been,"  said  the  boy,  "  but  the 
cars  came  in  three  minutes  before  their  time." 

Edith  Leslie  did  not  utter  a  word. 

Some  of  the  passengers  were  soon  about  him  again.  He 
repeated  to  them  what  he  knew  of  the  danger,  and  told  them 
how  he  had  learned  ft.  In  a  few  minutes,  several  men  were 
seen  at  a  distance  on  the  railroad,  running  forward  with  a 
handkerchief  tied  to  a  stick  to  warn  off  the  train.  A  few 
minutes  later,  a  Connecticut  pedler,  one  of  the  passengers, 
came  up  to  Morton. 

'*  Mister,  they're  going  to  do  the  handsome  thing  by  you. 
They're  getting  up  a  subscription  to  give  you  a  piece  of  silver 
plate." 


VASSALL    MORTON.  125 

"  The  deuse  they  are  !  "  was  Morton's  ungrateful  response. 

Going  into  the  room  where  the  passengers  were  met,  he 
found  that  the  pedler  had  told  the  truth ;  on  which,  for  the 
first  and  last  time  in  his  life,  he  addressed  an  assemblage  of 
his  fellow-citizens.  He  told  them  that  he  thanked  them  for 
their  kind  intention  ;  but  that  if  he  had  done  them  a  service, 
he  wished  for  no  other  recompense  than  the  knowledge  of  it, 
and  urged  them,  if  they  did  any  thing  in  the  matter,  to 
devote  their  efforts  to  gaining  the  arrest  and  punishment  of 
the  scoundrel  who  had  attempted  the  mischief.  His  oratory 
was  much  applauded  ;  many,  who  had  thought  themselves  in 
for  the  subscription,  joyfully  buttoned  their  pockets,  and, 
instead  of  the  plate,  he  received  a  series  of  complimentary 
resolutions,  to  be  published  in  the  newspapers. 

Meanwhile,  having  made  his  speech,  he  had  lost  no  time  in 
making  his  escape  also.  Going  back  to  the  carriage,  Miss 
Leslie's  friend  asked  him  to  accompany  them  home,  whence 
they  could  return  to  take  the  afternoon  train,  when  the  bridge 
would,  no  doubt,  be  repaired.  Morton,  however,  declined  the 
invitation,  and,  having  sent  two  men  to  catch  the  horse,  with 
instructions  to  refer  the  distressed  owner  to  him,  he  drove  in 
a  farmer's  wagon  to  Steuben.  In  a  few  hours,  he  rejoined 
Miss  Leslie  and  her  friend ;  and  having  escorted  both  safely 
to  town,  took  leave  of  the  former,  that  evening,  at  the  door 
of  her  father's  house. 

Several  of   the   newspapers   next  morning   contained  the 

resolutions   passed  by  the    passengers,  trumpeting  Morton's 

humanity,  presence  of  mind,  &c.     He  himself  very  well  knew 

that  the  praise  was  undeserved,  since  he  had  neither  thought 

11* 


126  VASSALL   MORTON. 

nor  cared  for  the  objects  of  his  supposed  humanity,  and,  far 
from  acting  with  presence  of  mind,  had  scarcely  known  what 
he  was  about. 

The  bridge  had  been  cut  by  an  Irish  mechanic  in  the 
employ  of  the  road,  who,  for  some  misdemeanor,  had  been 
reprimanded  and  turned  out,  and  who  had  passed  half  the 
night  in  preparing  his  demoniac  revenge.  It  afterwards 
appeared  that  he  had  been  a  state's  prison  convict  in  a  neigh 
boring  state,  and  that  he  would  have  been  still  in  confine 
ment,  had  not  the  officious  zeal  of  certain  benevolent  persons 
availed  to  set  him  loose  before  his  time. 


CHAPTER,   XX. 

For  true  it  is,  as  in  principio, 
Mulier  est  haminis  confusio  ; 
Madam,  the  meaning  of  this  Latin  is, 
That  woman  is  to  man  his  sovereign  bliss. 

*  *  *  * 

A  woman's  counsel  brought  us  first  to  woe, 
And  made  her  man  his  paradise  forego.  — 
These  are  the  words  of  Chanticleer,  not  mine ; 
I  honor  dames,  and  think  their  sex  divine.  —  Dryden. 

Ox  the  day  after  their  return,  Morton  visited  Miss  Leslie 
to  learn  if  she  had  suffered  from  the  fatigues  and  alarms  of 
yesterday  ;  and,  in  truth,  she  had  the  pale  face  of  one  whose 
rest  has  been  short  and  broken. 

"  It  has  been  my  fate  to  terrify  you,"  said  the  anxious 
Morton. 

During  his  visit,  the  door  bell  was  most  obtrusively  busy. 
Messages,  parcels,  notes,  cards,  visitors  came  in,  and  expelled 
all  hope  of  a  tete  a  tete. 

Soon  after  he  left  the  room,  Leslie  entered. 

"  Who  gave  you  those  flowers,  Edith  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Morton,  sir." 

"  Humph ! "  ejaculated  Leslie,  with  a  look  by  no  means 
of  gratification. 

Meanwhile,  Morton,  walking  the  street  in  an  abstracted 

(127) 


128  VASSALL    MOETON. 

• 

mood,  overtook  unawares  his  bachelor  friend  Mr.  Benedick 
Sharpe,  jurist,  philosopher,  and  man  of  letters — a  personage 
whose  ordinary  discourse  was  a  singular  imbroglio  of  irony 
and  earnest. 

"  Why,  Morton,  what  problem  of  ethnology  are  you  at 
now  ?  the  unity  of  the  human  race,  and  the  descent  from 
Adam  —  science  versus  orthodoxy  —  is  that  it  ?  " 

"  Nothing  so  deep." 

"  What,  nothing  ethnological  ?  " 

"Nothing  at  all." 

"  Ah,  then  I  begin  to  tremble  for  you.  There's  but  one 
thing  else  could  lose  you  in  such  a  maze.  The  flame  of  a 
candle  is  very  pretty  ;  but  the  moth  that  flies  into  it  scorches 
his  wings,  poor  devil." 

"  I  am  too  dull  to  see  through  your  metaphors." 

"  There's  another  blind  divinity  besides  Justice.  Beware 
the  shoal  of  matrimony !  Many  a  good  fellow  has  been 
wrecked  there."  , 

"  Harping  on  your  old  string  !  You  are  a  professed  woman 
hater." 

"  Who,  I  ?  Now  that  is  a  scandalous  libel.  I  admire 
them,  —  of  course." 

"  And  yet  there's  not  a  lady  of  your  acquaintance  whom  I 
have  not  heard  you  analyze,  criticise,  cavil  at,  and  disparage." 

"  My  dear  fellow  !  " 

"  You  have  no  conscience  to  deny  it." 

"  I  protest  I  have  the  greatest  —  ahem  !  —  admiration  for 
the  ladies  of  our  acquaintance.  We  have  an  excellent  assort 
ment,  —  we  have  witty  women  ;  brilliant  women ;  women  of 


TASSALL    MORTOX.  129 

taste  and  genius  ;  exact  and  fastidious  women,  —  a  full  sup 
ply,  —  accomplished  women  ;  finished  and  elegant  women,  — - 
not  too  many,  But  still  we  have  them  ;  learned  women ;  gen 
tle,  amiable,  tender  women  ;  sharp  and  caustic  women  ;  sensi 
ble  and  practical  women  ;  domestic  women,  —  all  unimpeach 
able,  —  all  good  in  their  kind." 

"  Then  why  is  matrimony  so  dangerous  ?  " 

"  No,  no,  not  dangerous,  exactly,  —  thanks  to  discreet 
nurture  and  northern  winters ;  not  dangerous  hereabouts  as  it 
was  in  the  days  of  the  old  satirists.  A  wise  man  may  be 
safe  enough  here  from  any  climax  of  matrimonial  evil ;  but 
there  are  minor  mischiefs,  daily  desagremens." 

"  What,  in  spite  of  that  catalogue  of  feminine  virtues  which 
you  delivered  just  now  ?  " 

"  Vanity  of  vanities  !  Admirable  in  the  abstract ;  excel 
lent  at  a  safe  distance ;  but  to  be  tied  to  for  life,  bed  and 
board,  day  light  and  candle  light,  —  that's  another  thing." 

"  Even  the  tender  and  amiable,  —  is  there  risk  even  there  ?  " 

"  One  cloys  on  perpetual  sweetmeats." 

"  And  the  domestic  women  ?  " 

"  Who  incarcerate  themselves  in  their  nurseries,  and  have 
no  brains  but  for  their  babies  ;  who  are  frantic  if  the  infant 
coughs,  and  are  buried  and  lost  among  cradles,  porringers, 
go-carts,  pills,  and  prescriptions." 

"  The  brilliant  woman,  then  ?  " 

"  Brilliant  at  dinner  tables  and  soirees  ;  but,  on  the  next 
day,  your  Corinne  is  disconsolate  with  a'  headache.  Her  wit 
is  for  the  world,  —  her  moods  and  mopings,  caprices  and 
lamentations,  —  those  she  keeps  for  her  husband." 


130  VASSALL    MORTON. 

"  You  are  a  cynic.  The  woman  of  taste  and  genius  ; 
where  do  you  place  her  ?  " 

"What  are  the  rude  heart  and  brain  of  a  man  to  such 
exalted  susceptibilities  ?  What  homage  is  too  much  for  him 
to  render  ?  Be  a  bond  slave  to  the  sweet  enthusiast.  Bow 
yourself  before  the  delicate  shrine.  Do  your  devoirs  ;  she 
will  not  bate  you  a  jot." 

"  But  there  are  in  the  world  women  governed  by  reason." 

"  My  dear  Morton,  are  you  demented  ?  A  woman  always 
rational,  always  sensible,  always  consistent ;  a  logical  woman ; 
one  who  can  distinguish  the  relations  of  cause  and  effect,  one 
who  marches  straight  to  her  purpose  like  a  man,  —  who  ever 
found  such  a  woman ;  or,  finding  her,  who  could  endure  such 
a  one  ? " 

"  You  fly  into  extremes  ;  but  women  may  be  rational,  as 
well  as  men." 

"  I  like  to  see  the  organ  of  faith  well  developed,  —  yours 
is  a  miracle.  Granted,  a  rational  woman  ;  and  with  a  liberal 
rendering  of  the  word,  such,  I  admit,  are  now  and  then  seen, 
—  women  always  even,  always  cheerful,  never  morbid,  always 
industrious,  always  practical ;  busy  with  good  works,  — 
charity,  for  example,  or  making  puddings,  — —  pious  daugh 
ters,  model  wives,  pattern  mothers " 

11  At  last  you  have  found  a  creditable  character." 

"  Very  creditable  ;  but  far  from  interesting.  The  truth  is, 
Morton,  the  very  uncertainty,  the  flitting  gleams  and  shadows, 
the  opalescent  light,  the  chameleon  coloring  of  a  woman's 
mind  are  what  make  her  fascination,  —  the-  fascination  and 
the  danger,  —  there  lies  the  dilemma.  Shun  the  danger, 


VASSALL    MORTON.  131 

and  you  lose  the  charm  as  well.  A  woman's  human  nature 
is  not  our  human  nature  ;  the  tissue  is  more  cunningly 
woven  ;  the  string  more  responsive  ;  the  essence  lighter  and 
subtler,  —  forgive  the  poetic  style,  —  appropriate  to  the 
theme,  you  know.  In  their  virtues  and  their  faults  they 
shoot  away  into  paths  where  we  do  not  track  them.  They 
can  sink  in  a  more  abject  abasement ;  and  sometimes,  again, 
while  we  tread  the  earth,  they  are  aeronauts  of  the  pure  ether. 
Stable,  stubborn,  impassive  man  holds  the  steadfast  tenor  of 
his  walk,  little  moved  by  influences  which,  on  the  one  hand, 
bury  his  helpmate  in  ruin,  or,  on  the  other,  wing  her  on  a 
flight  to  the  zenith.  They  out-sin  us,  and  they  out-saint 
us  ;  weak  as  a  reed,  and  strong  as  an  oak  ;  measureless  in 
folly,  profound  in  wisdom  ;  for  the  deepest  of  all  wisdom 
springs,  not  out  of  a  questioning  brain,  but  out  of  a  con 
fiding  heart ;  and  all  human  knowledge  must  find  its  root  at 
last  in  a  blind  belief.  There,  I  have  given  you  a  sublime 
touch  of  eloquence  ;  and,  for  the  moral  to  it,  —  shun  matri 
mony.  It  is  Satan's  slyest  mantrap.  No,  not  so,  at  all ;  it 
is  a  blessed  institution  for  perfecting  mankind  in  patience, 
charity,  and  meekness,  and  booking  their  names  in  the  cata 
logue  of  saints.  So  be  wise,  in  time.  Good  by.  Look 
before  you  leap  !  " 

And,  with  an  ironical  twinkle  in  his  eye,  Sharpe  vanished. 


CHAPTER   XXI. 

Quelle  diable  de  fantaisie  t'es  tu  al!6  mettre  dans  la  cervelle  ?    Tu  le  veux,  amour ;  U 
faut  fetre  fou  comme  beaucoup  d'autrea.  —  Le.  Malade,  Imaginaire. 

MATHEKTOX,  renowned  through  both  hemispheres  for  the 
manufacture  of  glass  ware,  stands,  unless  this  history  errs, 
on  the  line  of  the  Northern  Central  Railroad,  the  distance 
from  its  post  office  to  the  post  office  at  Boston  being  just 
thirty-three  miles.     Four  miles  from  the  village  is  the  tract 
of  land  which  Leslie's  forefather,  far  back  in  New  England 
antiquity,  bought  of  the    Indians.     The    original   purchase  , 
covered  several   square  miles,  since  dwindled  to  some  two 
hundred  acres.     Here,  in  a  sequestered  and  very  beautiful 
spot,  stands  the  mansion  which  Leslie's   grandfather   built 
some  eighty-five  years  ago.     In  its  day  it  was  reputed  of 
matchless  elegance,  and,  with  Leslie's  repairs  and  improve 
ments,  it  might  still  pass  as  a  very  handsome  old  country 
residence.     Sagamore  Pond,  or  Lake  Sagamore,  as  the  last 
Mrs.  Leslie,  who  had  lived  in  England,  insisted  on  calling 
it,  washes  the  foot  of  the  garden  ;  and  along  the  northern  ; 
verge  of  the  estate,  Battle  Brook  steals  down  to  the  pond,  \ 
under  the  thick    shade  of  the  hemlock   trees.     Here  King  ' 
Philip's  warriors  once  lay  in  ambush,  through  a  hot  sum-  i 

(132) 


VASSALL    MORTON.  133 

mer's  day ;  here  many  pious  Puritans  were  butchered,  and 
many  carried  off  into  doleful  captivity. 

At  the  house  at  Battle  Brook,  Leslie,  during  spring,  sum 
mer,  and  autumn,  had  always  spent  every  leisure  moment 
that  he  could  snatch  from  his  affairs.  Since  his  connection 
with  Vinal,  these  intervals  had  become  both  long  and  fre 
quent.  And,  since  grief  has  a  privilege,  and  since,  moreover, 
a  somewhat  alarming  cough  had  lately  begun  to  trouble  him, 
he  now  committed  all  to  Vinal' s  hands,  and,  on  the  day  after 
his  daughter's  return,  repaired  with  her  to  his  favorite  home 
stead,  there  to  remain  till  the  autumn  frosts  should  warn 
them  back  to  town.  Forthwith  Matherton  became  the  focus 
to  which  all  the  thoughts  of  Morton  concentred. 

Thither,  pretext  or  no  pretext,  he  resolved  to  go.  He 
went,  accordingly,  and  made  his  quarters  at  the  grand  hotel 
of  Matherton.  Fortunately,  Battle  Brook  was  then  the  best 
trout  stream  in  Massachusetts  ;  and  this  would  give,  he  flat 
tered  himself,  some  faint  color  to  his  proceeding.  He  arrived 
in  the  afternoon,  and,  mounting  a  horse,  rode  to  the  inn  at 
the  edge  of  Sagamore  Pond,  a  mile  or  more  from  Leslie's 
house. 

He  had  scarcely  reached  it,  when  a  brief  sharp  thunder 
shower  came  up,  and  passed  away  as  quickly.  As  the  sun 
was  setting,  he  rowed  out  in  a  small  boat  upon  the  pond. 
Here,  skirting  the  brink  of  a  sequestered  cove,  which  the 
beech  and  tupelo  trees  overhung,  and  where  every  thing  was 
still  but  the  evening  singing  of  a  robin,  and  the  mysterious 
whisper  of  the  rain-drops,  falling  from  innumerable  leaves, 
with  countless  tiny  circles  on  the  breathless  water,  —  here, 
12 


134  VASSALL    MORTON. 

where  his  boat  glided  as  if  buoyed  on  a  liquid  air,  while,  over 
the  pebbly  bottom,  the  perch  and  dace  fled  away  from  under 
the  shadowing  prow,  —  he  lingered  dreamily  for  a  while,  and 
then,  bending  to  his  oars,  bore  out  into  the  middle  of  the 
pond.  The  west  was  gorgeous  with  the  sunset,  while,  far  in 
front,  glimmering  among  the  trees,  he  could  see  the  shrine 
of  his  idolatry,  the  roof  that  sheltered  Edith  Leslie. 

A  light  breeze  crisped  the  water,  the  ripples  murmured 
with  a  lulling  sound  under  his  boat,  and,  lying  at  ease,  he 
gave  himself  up  to  his  reveries. 

His  passion-kindled  fancies  ranged  earth,  sea,  and  sky ; 
wandered  into  the  past,  lost  themselves  in  the  future  ;  evoked 
the  shadows  of  dead  history ;  mixed  in  one  phantom  conclave 
the  hairy  war  gods  of  the  north,  the  bright  shapes  of  Grecian 
fable,  the  enormities  of  Egyptian  mythology ;  and,  looking 
into  the  burning  depths  above  him,  he  mused  of  human  hopes, 
human  aspirations,  human  destiny.  That  oddly  compounded 
malady  which  had  fastened  on  him  had  brought  with  it  the 
intense  yet  tranquil  awakening  of  every  faculty  with  which  it 
will  sometimes  visit  those  of  the  ruder  sex  whom  it  attacks 
with  virulence. 

The  magic  of  earth  and  sky ;  the  black  pines  rearing  their 
shaggy  tops  against  the  blazing  west ;  the  shores  mingling  in 
many-tinted  shadow ;  the  fiery  sky,  where  three  little  clouds 
hovered  like  flaming  spirits ;  the  fiery  water,  where  he  and 
his  boat  floated  as  in  a  crimson  sea;  the  whole  glowing 
scene,  glowing  deeper  yet  in  the  fervid  light  of  passion,  —  pen 
etrated  him  like  an  enchantment.  He  scarcely  knew  himself ; 
and  in  his  supreme  of  intoxication,  the  familiar  world  around 
him  was  sublimed  into  a  vision  of  Eden. 


CHAPTER   XXII. 


If  it  were  now  to  die, 
'Twere  now  to  be  most  happy ;  for  I  fear, 
My  soul  hath  her  content  so  absolute, 
That  not  another  comfort  like  to  this 
Succeeds  in  unknown  fate.  —  OthtUo. 


IT  was  a  day  of  cloudless  sunshine  when  Morton  set  forth 
for  the  house  at  Battle  Brook ;  hut  his  mind  was  far  from 
sharing  the  brightness  of  the  wjrld  without.  The  hope  that 
flowed  so  full  and  calmly  the  night  before  had  ebbed  and 
left  him  dry.  He  was  shaken  with  doubts,  misgivings,  per 
turbations.  He  walked  his  horse  up  the  avenue,  till  he  came 
within  view  of  the  house,  a  large,  square  mansion,  with  a 
veranda  on  three  sides,  a  quiet-looking  place  enough,  but  in 
Morton's  eyes  priceless  as  Aladdin's  palace,  and  sacred  as 
Our  Lady's '  house  at  Loretto.  A  monthly  honeysuckle 
twined  about  one  of  the  columns  of  the  porch ;  the  hall  door 
stood  open,  and  the  air  played  freely  through  from  front 
to  rear. 

He  gave  his  horse  to  the  charge  of  an  old  Scotchman  who 
was  mowing  the  lawn,  rang  at  the  door,  asked  for  Miss  Leslie, 
and  was  shown  into  the  vacant  parlor.  With  its  straw  car 
peting  and  light  summer  furniture,  it  was  bright  and  cheerful 
as  every  thing  else  about  it.  Engravings  from  Turner  and 

(135) 


136  TASSALL    MORTOX. 

Landseer,  framed  in  black  walnut,  hung  against  the  walls ; 
and  on  a  small  table  in  a  corner  stood  a  bird  cage,  with  the 
door  left  purposely  open.  The  inmate  was  hopping  about 
the  room,  without  attempting  to  escape,  though  the  windows 
also  were  open. 

"  No  wonder  it  will  not  leave  her,"  thought  the  visitor. 

He  seated  himself  by  the  window,  and  looked  out  on  the 
fields  and  the  groves  beyond.  Far  down  in  the  meadow,  the 
yellow-tufted  rye  was  undulating  in  the  warm  summer  wind, 
wave  chasing  wave  in  graceful  succession.  The  birds  would 
not  sing,  —  the  afternoon  was  too  hot,  —  but  the  buzz,  and 
hum,  and  chirrup  of  a  myriad  of  insects  rose  from  their  lurk 
ing-places  in  the  grass,  while  now  and  then  the  cicala  raised 
its  piercing  voice  from  a  neighboring  apple  tree. 

Suddenly  Morton's  heart  began  to  beat ;  a  light  step  on 
the  staircase  reached  his  ear,  and  the  rustling  of  a  dress. 
Miss  Leslie  came  in  with  her  usual  natural  and  quiet  ease  of 
manner,  while  he  rose  to  receive  her  with  his  heart  in  his 
throat.  And  now,  when  he  needed  them  most,  his  wits 
seemed  to  fail  him.  He  tried  to  converse,  and  produced 
nothing  but  barren  commonplace.  Again  and  again  the  con 
versation  flagged;  and  the  hum  and  chirrup  of  the  insect 
world  without  filled  the  pauses  between. 

He  glanced  at  his  companion. 

"Be  a  man,  you  idiot,"  he  apostrophized  himself. 

He  looked  at  her  again,  as  she  bent  over  the  embroidery 
with  which  her  fingers  were  employed. 

"  I  must  speak  out,  or  die,"  he  thought. 

He  rested  his  arm  on  the  table.     He  leaned  towards  her. 


TASSALL    MORTON.  137 

Heaven  knows  what  nonsense  was  on  his  lips,  when  the  sound 
of  a  man's  footstep  in  the  hall  made  him  subside  into  his 
chair,  and  do  his  best  to  look  nonchalant.  Leslie  entered, 
cast  an  uneasy  glance  at  the  visitor,  and  greeted  him  with 
somewhat  cool  courtesy. 

"  I  have  just  met  Miss  Weston  and  her  sister,"  said  Leslie 
to  his  daughter  ;  "  I  think  they  will  be  here  in  a  few  minutes." 

Morton  looked  at  a  Landseer  on  the  wall,  and  gnawed  his 
lip  with  vexation. 

Leslie  took  a  turn  or  two  about  the  room,  looked  out  at 
the  window,  remarked  that  it  was  a  hot  afternoon,  said  that 
the  hay  crop  had  been  the  heaviest  ever  known,  in  conse 
quence,  he  opined,  of  the  joint  effects  of  heat,  moisture,  and 
guano ;  and  was  descanting  on  the  ravages  committed  by  the 
borers  on  a  certain  peach  tree^  when  Miss  Weston  and  her 
sister  appeared. 

"It's  all  up  with  me.  She  does  not  care  for  me  a  straw," 
thought  Morton,  as  he  saw  the  easy  cordiality  with  wljich 
Miss  Leslie  received  her  guests.  He  was  introduced.  Miss 
Weston  complimented  him.  on  the  affair  of  the  railroad.  His 
reply  was  cold  and  constrained.  Leslie  soon  left  the  room. 
Morton  felt  himself  de  trop,  yet  could  not  muster  strength  of 
mind  to  go.  Conversation  nagged.  Every  body  became 
constrained.  Miss  Weston  suspected  the  truth,  and  glanced 
at  her  sister  that  they  should  take  their  leave,  when,  at  this 
juncture,  a  servant  came  to  announce  tea. 

The  ebbs  and  flows  of  the  human  mind  are  beyond  the 
reach  of  astronomy.  As  they  went  into  the  next  room,  Mor 
ton  became  conscious  of  a  faint  and  indefinite  something  in 
12* 


138  VASSALL    MOKTON. 

the  face  of  his  mistress,  which,  he  could  not  tell  why,  cast  a 
gleam  of  light  into  his  darkness,  and  lifted  him  out  of  the 
slough  of  despond  in  which  he  had  been  floundering  for  the 
last  half  hour.  A  flush  of  hope  dawned  on  him.  His  con 
straint  passed  away,  and  Miss  Weston's  opinion  of  him  was 
wonderfully  revolutionized.  At  length,  much  to  his  delight, 
one  of  the  visitors  remarked  to  the  other,  that  they  had  better 
go  home  before  it  grew  too  dark.  But  here  a  new  alarm 
seized  him.  Might  he  not  be  expected  to  offer  them  his  es 
cort  ?  Terrified  at  this  idea,  and  oblivious  of  all  gallantry,  he 
made  his  escape  into  the  garden,  impelled  —  so  he  left  them 
to  infer  —  by  a  delicate  wish  to  free  them  from  the  restraint 
of  his  presence.  Here  he  walked  to  and  fro  behind  the 
hedge,  in  no  small  agitation,  but  with  all  his  faculties  on  the 
alert. 

In  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  he  heard  voices  at  the  hall  door ; 
and  approaching  behind  a  cluster  of  high  laurels,  saw  Edith 
Leslie  accompanying  her  two  friends  down  the  avenue.  After 
walking  with  them  a  few  rods,  she  bade  them  good  evening, 
and  turned  back  towards  the  house.  Morton  went  forward 
to  meet  her. 

"  There  is  a  beautiful  sunset  over  the  water,  beyond  the 
garden.  Will  you  walk  that  way  ?  " 

They  turned  down  one  of  the  garden  paths. 

"  What  did  you  think  of  me  this  afternoon  ?  "  asked  Mor 
ton —  "  did  you  think  me  ill,  or  bewitched,  or  turned  idiot  ?  " 

"  Neither.     I  thought  you  a  little  taciturn,  at  first." 

"  I  am  fortunate  if  that  was  your  worst  opinion.  I  believe 
I  was  under  a  spell.  Did  you  never  dream  —  all  people,  I 


VASSALL    MOKTON.  139 

believe,  have  something  in  common  in  their  dreams  —  of  being 
in  some  great  peril,  without  power  to  move  hand  or  foot  to 
escape  ?  —  of  being  under  some  desperate  necessity  of  speaking, 
without  power  to  open  your  lips  ?  —  or  of  seeing  before  you 
some  splendid  prize,  without  power  to  make  even  an  effort  to 
grasp  it  ?  Something  like  that  was  my  case."  Here  he  came 
to  an  abrupt  stop,  walked  on  a  pace  or  two,  then  turned  to 
his  companion  with  a  vehemence  which  startled  her  —  "  Miss 
Leslie,  you  heard  your  friend  praise  me  for  humanity  — 
courage  —  what  not  ?  It  was  all  a  mistake  —  all  a  delusion. 
I  thought  you  were  in  the  train.  I  was  wild  with  agony  ; 
and  when  the  people  were  crowding  after  me,  I  thought  that 
all  had  been  for  nothing,  because  I  had  not  saved  you.  I 
can  hardly  tell  what  I  did ;  it  was  mere  blind  instinct.  I 
could  have  ridden  into  the  fire,  and  perhaps  not  have  felt  the 
burning.  There  is  a  spell  upon  me.  I  am  changed  —  life  is 
changed  —  every  thing  is  changed.  I  scarcely  know  myself. 
It  mans  me,  and  it  makes  me  a  child  again.  The  world  puts 
on  a  new  face ;  just  as  this  sunset  lights  the  earth  with  pur 
ple  and  vermilion,  and  turns  it  to  a  fairy  land.  Forgive  me  ; 
I  don't  know  what  I  am  saying.  I  am  in  fear  that  all  this 
brightness  will  change  of  a  sudden  into  winter  and  night, 
and  cold,  rocky  commonplace.  You  know  what  I  would  say. 
I  have  no  words  fit  to  say  it.  You  are  my  judge,  to  lift  me 
up,  or  cast  me  down." 

Here  he  stopped  again  abruptly,  and  looked  at  his  compan 
ion  in  much  greater  agitation  than  he  would  have  felt  if  he 
had  just  thrown  the  dice  for  life  or  death.  She  stood  for  a 
moment  with  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  earth,  as  if  waiting  for 
him  to  go  on,  then  slowly  raised  them  to  his  face. 


140  VASSALL    MOBTON. 

"  You  risked  your  life  to  save  mine.  You  need  not  believe 
that  I  could  ever  forget  it." 

Morton's  heart  sprang  to  his  lips.  Nature  had  not  been 
liberal  to  him  in  the  gift  of  tongues,  but  the  energy  of  his 
emotion  supplied  the  defect.  Nor  were  his  words  thrown 
away ;  for  with  all  its  outward  calm,  the  nature  that  responded 
to  them  was  earnest  and  ardent  as  his  own. 

It  was  an  hour  or  more  since  the  whippoorwills  had  begun 
their  evening  cries,  when  they  returned  to  the  house.  Can 
dles  were  lighted,  and  Leslie  was  sitting  with  two  persons 
from  the  neighborhood,  an  agent  of  the  Matherton  factories 
and  a  lawyer,  conversing  upon  railroad  stocks.  He  looked 
very  uneasily  at  his  daughter  and  Morton,  but  said  nothing. 
The  latter  was  engrossed  with  one  idea ;  but  he  forced  himself 
to  join  in  the  conversation,  and  favored  the  company  with  his 
views  —  not  very  lucid  on  this  occasion  —  upon  the  tobic 
under  discussion.  He  soon,  however,  contrived  to  whisper 
to  Miss  Leslie,  "  I  shall  go  in  five  minutes  —  will  you  meet 
me  in  the  hall  ?  "  She  left  the  room  in  a  few  moments  ;  and 
Morton,  after  a  short  interval,  took  his  leave,  in  much  alarm 
lest  his  intended  father-in-law  should  strain  courtesy  so  far  as 
to  follow  him.  Leslie,  however,  remained  quiet ;  and  he 
found  his  mistress  waiting  for  him  at  the  hall  door.  Their 
interview  was  short,  but  Morton  never  forgot  it.  After  bid 
ding  her  good  night  some  eight  or  ten  times,  he  compelled 
himself  to  leave  the  house,  mounted  his  horse,  waved  his 
hand  to  Edith  Leslie,  whom  he  saw  watching  him  from  a  side 
window,  wheeled,  rode  down  the  avenue,  turned  as  he  reached 
the  entrance  of  the  trees,  and  waved  his  hand  again  towards 


YASSALL    MOKTON.  141 

the  window.  His  heart  was  full  to  overflowing,  and  tears, 
not  of  sorrow,  ran  down  his  cheeks.  "  Good  Heaven ! " 
laughed  Morton,  as  he  brushed  them  away,  "  this  has  not 
happened  to  me  before  these  twelve  years."  He  waved  a 
farewell  once  more,  and  spurring  his  horse,  rode  down  the 
avenue  into  the  high  road. 

It  was  a  soft,  warm,  starlight  evening,  and,  as  he  passed 
along,  he  heard  the  voices  of  the  whippoorwills  from  far  and 
near,  while  the  meadows,  the  orchards,  and  the  borders  of 
the  woods  sparkled  with  fireflies.  With  loosened  rein,  he 
suffered  his  horse  to  canter  lightly  forward,  and  gave  himself 
up  to  the  enchantment  of  his  dreams.  A  thousand  times  in 
his  after  life  did  he  recall  the  visions  of  that  evening's  ride. 

About  a  mile  before  reaching  the  town,  the  road  passed, 
for  a  few  rods,  through  a  belt  of  thick  woods.  While  riding 
through  the  darkest  of  the  shadow,  a  strange  cry  startled 
him  —  a  shriek  so  wild  and  awful  that  the  blood  curdled  in 
his  veins,  and  his  horse  leaped  aside  with  fright.  There  was 
a  rustling  among  the  branches  over  his  head,  a  flapping  and 
fanning  of  broad  pinions,  and  the  dusky  form  of  some  great 
bird  sailed  away  into  the  innermost  darkness  of  the  woods. 
Morton  knew  the  sound.  It  was  the  voice  of  the  great 
horned  owl,  rarely  found  in  that  part  of  the  country,  though 
he  had  once  or  twice  before  heard  its  midnight  yells  in  the 
lonely  forests  of  Maine. 

The  cry  long  rang  in  his  ears.  It  seemed  fraught  with 
startling  portent,  clouded  his  spirits,  and  umbered  the  rose- 
tint  of  his  reveries.  He  turned  his  face  to  the  stars,  and 
breathed  a  prayer  for  the  welfare  of  his  mistress. 


CHAPTEK   XXIII. 


L'ambition,  1'amour,  1'avarice,  la  haine, 

Tiennent  comme  un  format  son  esprit  a  la  chalne.— 


NOBODY  knew  Vinal  but  Vinal  himself.  Know  thyself  was 
his  favorite  maxim.  He  practised  upon  it,  as  he  flattered 
himself,  with  a  rigorous  and  unsparing  logic,  applying  the 
dissecting  knife  and  microscope  to  the  secrets  of  his  mind, 
probing,  testing,  studying,  pitilessly  ripping  up  all  that  would 
fain  hide  itself.  The  aim  of  all  this  scrutiny  was,  thoroughly 
to  comprehend  the  machine,  in  order  to  direct  and  perfect  it 
to  its  highest  efficiency. 

Vinal,  as  men  go,  knew  himself  very  well ;  and  yet  there 
were  points  of  his  character  which  escaped  him,  or  which, 
rather,  he  misnamed.  He  knew  perfectly  that  he  was  ambi 
tious,  selfish,  unscrupulous  :  this  he  confessed  in  his  own  ear, 
pluming  himself  much  on  his  philosophic  candor.  But  he 
never  would  see  that  he  was  eflvious.  In  his  mental  map  of 
himself,  envy  was  laid  down  as  pride  and  emulation.  The 
wrestlings  of  human  nature  are  not  all  of  the  sort  figured  in 
the  Pilgrim's  Progress  and  set  forth  in  the  Catechism.  Vinal 
had  an  ideal ;  he  had  cherished  it  from  boyhood,  and  battled 
ever  since  to  realize  it.  He  would  fain  make  himself  the  fin 
ished  man  of  the  world,  the  unflinching,  all-knowing,  all- 

(142) 


VASSALL    MOBTON.  143 

potential  man  of  affairs,  like  a  blade  of  steel,  smooth  and 
polished,  but  keen,  searching,  resistless.  This  was  his  aim ; 
but  nature  was  always  balking  him.  He  was  the  victim  of  a 
constitutional  timidity,  his  scourge  from  childhood.  He  had 
been  known  to  swoon  outright,  on  being  run  away  with  in  a 
chaise,  and  he  never  could  muster  nerve  enough  to  fire  a  gun. 
Against  this  defect  his  pride  rose  in  revolt.  It  thwarted  him 
at  every  turn,  and  conflicted  with  all  his  aspirations.  In 
short,  he  could  not  endure  its  presence,  and  fought  against  it 
with  an  iron  energy  of  will.  Thus  his  life  was  a  secret, 
unremitting  struggle,  whose  mark  was  written  on  his  pale, 
nervous,  resolute  features.  It's  an  ill  wind  that  blows  no 
good.  This  painful  warfare  achieved  a  singular  vigor  and 
concentration  of  character,  and  would  have  led  to  still  better 
issues,  had  the  assailing  force  been  marshalled  under  a  better 
banner.  A  lofty  purpose  may  turn  timidity  to-  heroism  ;  but 
a  purpose  like  Vinal's  is  by  no  means  so  efficacious,  and  the 
man  remains,  if  not  quite  a  coward,  yet  something  very 
like  one. 

It  would  have  been  well  for  Vinal  if,  like  Morton,  he  had 
been  born  to  a  fortune.  In  that  case  —  for  he  had  no  apti 
tude  for  pleasure  hunting  —  his  restless  energies  would 
probably  have  spurred  him  into  some  creditable  field  of  effort, 
natural  science,  mathematics,  or  philology,  to  all  of  which  he 
inclined.  But  Fate  had  not  been  so  propitious ;  and  to 
achieve  the  task  which  she  had  forgotten  was  the  zenith  of 
his  aspirations. 

There  was  one  person  who  had  always  been  an  eyesore  to 
him,  and  a  stumbling  block  in  his  way.  This  was  Vassall 


144  VASSALL   MOETON. 

Morton.  Morton,  at  twenty-three,  was,  in  feeling,  still  a 
boy ;  Vinal,  at  twenty-three,  was  a  well-ripened  man.  But 
the  man  hated  the  boy  ;  and  the  boy  retorted  with  a  dislike 
which  was  largely  dashed  with  scorn.  Vinal  felt  the  scorn, 
and  it  cut  him  to  the  quick,  the  more  so,  that  he  could  not 
hide  from  himself  that  he  stood  in  awe  of  Morton.  He 
hated  him,  too,  because  he  had  that  which  he,  Vinal,  lacked  — 
fortune,  good  health,  steady  nerve.  He  hated  him,  because 
he  thought  that  Morton  understood  him ;  because  the  frank 
ness  of  the  latter' s  nature  rebuked  the  secrecy  of  his  own ; 
and,  above  all,  because  he  saw  in  him  his  most  formidable 
rival  in  the  affections  of  Edith  Leslie. 

Vinal's  nature,  self-drilled  as  it  was,  could  not  be  called  a 
cold  one.  It  had  in  it  spots  and  veins  of  sensitiveness. 
When  a  child,  this  sensitiveness  had  often  been  morbidly 
awake,  and  had  caused  him  much  suffering  ;  but  as  he  grew 
towards  manhood,  it  had  been  overlaid  and  hidden  by  very 
different  qualities,  not  often  found  in  connection  with  it.  Of 
late,  however,  he  had  been  in  love,  —  with  Edith  Leslie,  as 
well  as  with  her  money,  —  and  the  dormant  susceptibilities 
of  his  childhood  had  been  in  some  sort  reawakened. 

His  mind,  inharmonious  and  unhappy  as  nature  and  him 
self  had  jointly  made  it,  had  never  yet  felt  a  pang  so  sharp 
as  when,  arriving  at  Matherton,  he  learned  privately  from 
Colonel  Leslie  the  engagement  which  had  passed  between 
Morton  and  his  daughter.  Miss  Leslie's  twice  rejected 
suitor  compressed  his  thin  lips  in  silence  ;  it  was  his  usual 
sign  of  strong  emotion.  Leslie  pressed  his  favorite's  hand, 
—  he  would  fain  have  called  him  son-in-law,  —  and,  turning 
away  abruptly,  Vinal  left  the  house. 


VASSALL    MORTON.  145 

The  man  whom  he  envied  and  hated  had  triumphed ; 
robbed  him  of  fortune,  and  robbed  him  of  happiness  ;  happi 
ness  of  which  Morton  had  had  already  his  full  share,  and  a 
fortune  which  would  but  swell  the  ample  bulk  of  his  posses 
sions.  Vinal  was  frenzied  with  grief,  rage,  and  jealousy. 
13 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 

Clo.  That  she  should  love  this  fellow  and  refuse  me ! 

If  it  be  sin  to  make  a  true  election,  she  is  damned.  —  Cymbdine. 

MORTON  sat  in  the  reading  room  of  the  National,  the  grand 
hotel  of  Matherton.  It  was  by  no  means  an  elegant  apart 
ment.  "  In  the  middle  was  a  table  covered  with  newspapers  ; 
at  the  sides  were  desks,  likewise  covered  with  newspapers, 
padlocked  together  in  files.  The  walls  and  the  ceiling  glared 
a  drear  monotony  of  white,  broken,  however,  by  sundry  orna 
ments,  worthy  the  attention  of  the  curious.  Here,  framed  in 
birdseye  maple,  was  the  engraved  likeness  of  "  Old  Hickory," 
with  hat  and  cane  in  hand,  a  cloak  to  hide  the  gauntness  of 
his  figure,  and  hair  bristling  in  electrified  disorder.  Here, 
too,  was  a  colored  print  of  the  favorite  steamboat  "  Queen  of 
the  Lake ;  "  Niagara  Falls,  by  a  license  of  art,  forming  a 
blue  curtain  in  the  background.  At  its  side  was  a  lithograph 
of  the  Empire  Hotel,  New  York,  the  sidewalk  in  front 
being  embellished  with  groups  of  pedestrians,  dressed  with 
matchless  elegance,  after  the  fashion  plates  ;  and,  over  against 
this,  an  advertisement  of  Jessup's  steel,  encircled  with  a 
lithographed  halo,  composed  of  chisels,  axes,  hammers,  saws, 
and  ploughshares. 

The  apartment,  thus  furnished  and  thus  adorned,  had, 

(146) 


TASSALL    MORTON.  147 

besides  Morton,  but  two  occupants  ;  the  one  a  factory  agent, 
who  stood  at  a  desk,  absorbed  in  the  New  Orleans  Picayune  ; 
the  other  a  country  tailor,  who  displayed  the  sign  of  the 
"  Full-dressed  Man  "  at  the  neighboring  village  of  Mudfield, 
and  was  now  seated  at  a  window,  busied  in  polishing  a  huge 
garnet  ring,  which  he  wore,  with  a  red  silk  handkerchief. 

In  a  window  recess,  aloof  from  the  tailor's,  sat  Morton, 
scarcely  conscious  of  any  presence  but  that  of  his  own 
thoughts.  He  had  found  a  philosopher's  stone  ;  and  through 
the  rest  of  his  life,  this  comfortless  reading  room  of  the 
Matherton  Hotel,  this  sanctuary  of  dry  and  weary  Yankee- 
dom,  was  linked  in  his  memory  \\ith  dreams  of  golden 
brightness. 

A  firm,  quick  step  crossed  the  threshold,  and  paced  the 
sanded  floor.  Till  this  moment,  Morton  had  remained  ab 
sorbed,  shut  in  from  the  outer  world  ;  but  now  an  influence, 
which  believers  may  call  magnetism,  made  him  look  up  and 
bend  forward  from  the  recess  to  see  who  the  sudden  stranger 
might  be.  The  stranger  turned  also,  and  showed  the  pale, 
fixed  face  of  Horace  Vinal. 

Morton  was  disposed  to  be  on  good  terms  with  all  the 
world,  and  more  especially  with  his  defeated  rival. 

"  Good  morning,  Vinal,"  he  said,  holding  out  his  hand, 
which  Vinal  took,  his  cold,  thin  fingers  trembling  in  the 
warm  grasp  of  Morton.  He  had  had  no  '  thought  of  finding 
him  there  ;  the  encounter  was  unlocked  for  as  it  was  unwel 
come  ;  and,  as  he  muttered  a  few  passing  words  of  common 
place,  his  features  grew  haggard  with  the  violence  of  strug 
gling  emotion.  He  turned  away,  went  to  a  desk,  pretended 


148  VASSALL    MORTON. 

to  read  a  newspaper  for  a  few  moments,  and  then  left  the 
room. 

Morton  looked  after  him.  He  had  no  doubt  that  Vinal 
had  heard  of  his  misfortune  ;  and  the  first  sense  of  pain 
which,  since  the  evening  before  last,  the  successful  lover 
had  felt,  now  crossed  his  mind. 

"  It's  devilish  hard  for  him,  poor  fellow,"  he  thought,  as, 
measuring  Vinal' s  passion  by  his  own,  a  vivid  image  of  the 
latter's  suffering  rose  upon  him. 

Vinal  strode  along  a  corridor  of  the  hotel.  There  was  no 
one  to  see  him.  His  forehead  was  knit,  his  nostrils  distend 
ed,  his  jaws  clinched.  A  man,  whom  he  knew,  came  from  a 
side  passage.  Instantly  Vinal's  face  was  calm  again,  and  as 
the  other  passed  he  greeted  him  with  a  smile.  He  went  out 
into  the  main  street  of  the  town,  along  which  he  walked  for  a 
few  rods  with  his  usual  air  of  alert  composure  ;  then  turned 
down  a  narrow  and  unfrequented  by-way.  Here  his  whole 
bearing  changed.  He  trod  the  gravelled  sidewalk  with  a 
fierce,  nervous  motion ;  and  with  hands  clinched  and  eyes 
fixed  on  the  ground,  muttered  through  his  set  teeth,  — 

"  Fair  or  foul,  by  G — ,  I'll  be  even  with  him." 


CHAPTER    XXV. 

0,  quha  is  this  has  done  this  deed, 

This  ill  deed  done  to  me? 
To  send  me  out  this  time  o'  the  zeir, 

To  sail  upon  the  sea.  —  Percy  Eeliques. 

A  slave  whose  gall  coins  slanders  like  a  mint.  —  Troilus  and  Cressida. 

"  YOUR  proposal  flatters  me,  Mr.  Morton ;  and,  in  many 
points  of  view,  the  connection  you  offer  would  be  a  desirable 
one,  —  a  very  desirable  one.  But  I  must  say  to  you  plainly, 
that  if  my  wishes  alone  were  consulted,  my  daughter  would 
bestow  her  hand  elsewhere.  Perhaps  I  need  not  tell  you 
that  Horace  Vinal,  who  was  my  ward,  and  my  late  wife's 
relation,  and  who  has  been  my  partner  in  business  for  a  year 
or  more,  is  a  young  man  whom  I  have  looked  upon  as  my 
son,  and  whom  it  was  my  very  earnest  hope  to  have  seen 
such  in  reality.  You  who  have  had  an  opportunity  of  know 
ing  him  can  hardly  be  surprised  that,  after  so  long  an  inti 
macy,  I  should  prefer  this  connection  to  any  other.  I  have 
seen  him  in  all  the  relations  of  life,  and  the  more  I  have  seen 
the  more  I  have  learned  to  esteem  him." 

"  You  speak  with  a  good  deal  of  emphasis  of  his  character. 
May  I  ask  if  any  part  of  your  objection  to  me  rests  on  that 
score." 

"  In  a  matter  like  this,  I  am  bound  to  be  frank  with  you. 
13* 


150  VASSALL    MORTON. 

Iii  many  quarters,  I  hear  you  very  highly  spoken  of,  —  so 
highly,  in  fact,  that  I  am  disposed  to  take  with  every  qualifi 
cation  what  I  have  heard  to  your  disadvantage." 

"  Pray,  what  is  that  ?  " 

"  I  was  a  soldier  once,  and  don't  incline  to  inquire  too 
closely  into  the  way  young  men  may  see  fit  to  amuse  them 
selves.  But  on  a  point  where  my  daughter's  happiness  might 
be  involved " 

"  Upon  my  word,  sir,  I  don't  understand  you." 

"  Well,  Mr.  Morton,  I  hear  —  that  is,  I  have  learned  — 
that,  like  other  young  men  of  leisure,  you  have  had  your 
bonnes  fortunes,  and  winged  other  game  than  partridges  and 
woodcock." 

Morton  looked  at  him  in  surprise.  The  truth  was,  that, 
some  time  before,  the  discreet  and  far-sighted  Vinal  had  con 
trived  to  inoculate  his  patron  with  this  calumny,  which  he 
thought  the  species  most  likely  to  take  readily.  And  such 
had  been  his  tact,  that  Leslie,  though  well  imbued  with  the 
idea,  would  have  been  puzzled  to  say  whence  he  had  received 
it.  A  man  of  shallow-brained  uprightness  like  his,  if  he 
yields  too  easy  a  belief  to  falsehood,  has  the  advantage  of 
yielding  also  an  easy  belief  to  truth.  A  few  words  from 
Morton  sufficed  to  carry  conviction  to  the  frank-hearted 
auditor,  who,  feeling  that,  at  least  as  regarded  its  worst 
features,  his  charge  must  be  groundless,  hastened  to  make 
the  amende. 

"  Your  word  is  enough,  Mr.  Morton,  and  I  owe  you  an 
apology  for  imagining  that  you  could  be  false  or  heartless  in 
any  connection  \vhatever.  I  think,  however,  that  you  can  see 


VASSALL    MORTON.  151 

how,  without  disparagement  to  you,  I  should  still  regret  that 
Horace  Vinal,  who  is  personally  so  near  to  me,  so  devoted  to 
my  interests,  and  so  strongly  attached  to  my  daughter,  should 
be  disappointed.  I  advised  him,  yesterday,  to  go  to  Europe, 
to  recruit  his  health.  I  am  told  that  you  had  yourself  some 
plan  of  the  kind." 

"  A  very  indefinite  one,  sir ;  in  fact,  amounting  to  none 
at  all." 

"  Go  this  autumn  ;  be  absent  a  year,  —  that  is  not  too 
long  for  seeing  Europe,  —  and  if  at  the  end  of  that  time  you 
and  my  daughter  should  remain  as  earnest  in  this  matter  as 
you  are  now,  why,  I  am  not  the  man  to  persist  in  opposing 
her  inclination." 

The  sentence  was  hard  ;  but  there  was  no  appeal.  Leslie 
had  told  Vinal  the  day  before  that  he  would  despatch  Morton 
on  his  travels,  intimating  a  hope  that  a  long  separation  might 
bring  about  a  change  in  his  daughter's  feelings.  Morton  saw 
nothing  for  it  but  acquiescence  ;  to  which,  indeed,  Miss 
Leslie  urged  him,  confiding  in  the  strength  of  his  attach 
ment,  and  happy  to  reconcile  adverse  duties  and  inclinations 
at  any  price. 

Meanwhile,  he  had  not  the  smallest  suspicion  of  the  subtle 
trick  which  his  rival  had  played  him.  "  This  is  a  charitable 
world  !  "  he  thought ;  "  one  must  keep  the  beaten  track, 
look  demure,  and  talk  virtue,  or,  in  one  shape  or  another,  it 
will  be  the  worse  for  him." 


CHAPTER,   XXVI. 

Then  loathed  he  in  his  native  land  to  dwell.  —  Childe  Harold. 

Stend.  A  gentleman  born,  Master  Parson,  who  writes  himself  Armigero;  in  any 
bill,  warrant,  quittance,  or  obligation,  Armigero  ! 

Shal.  Ay,  that  I  do;  and  have  done  any  time  these  three  hundred  years.  —  Merry 
Wives  of  Windsor. 

THE  engagement  of  Miss  Leslie  and  Morton  was  to  be 
kept  secret  till  the  latter's  return.  None  knew  it  but  Les 
lie  and  Vinal.  Vinal,  within  a  few  weeks,  sailed  for  Eu 
rope,  meaning,  however,  to  be  absent  only  three  or  four 
months.  Other  motives  apart,  he  felt,  and  Leslie  saw,  that 
his  health,  always  shivering  in  the  wind,  demanded  the 
change. 

Meanwhile,  Morton  made  the  best  of  a  six  weeks'  reprieve ; 
and  hampered  as  he  was  by  the  injunction  of  secrecy,  and 
the  precautions  which  it  demanded,  he  crowded  the  short 
interval  with  half  a  lifetime  of  mixed  pleasure  and  pain, 
expectation  and  anxiety. 

It  was  past  but  too  quickly  ;  in  three  days  more  he  must 
set  sail.  Walking  the  street  in  a  rueful  mood,  he  met  his 
classmate,  Chester,  who,  having  made  the  tour  of  Europe,  had 
lost  his  obsolete  ways,  and  grown  backward  into  a  man  of 
the  present  world. 

(152) 


VASSALL    MORTON.  153 

"  Good  morning,  Morton.  Making  calls  ?  —  I  see  it  by 
your  face." 

"  Yes  ;  it's  a  thing  that  must  be  done  sometimes." 

"  Pour  prendre  conge,  I  suppose.  I  hear  you  are  off  very 
soon." 

"  The  day  after  to-morrow." 

"  You  couldn't  do  a  wiser  thing.  When  a  man  finds  him 
self  in  a  scrape,  he  had  better  get  out  of  it  as  soon  as  possi 
ble  ;  therefore,  if  he  finds  himself  born  in  America,  he  had 
better  forswear  his  country." 

"  Patriotic  sentiments  those." 

"  I  can't  answer  for  the  patriotism ;  but  they  are  the  senti 
ments  of  a  true  son  of  the  Pilgrim  Fathers,  who  renounced 
their  country  because  they  couldn't  stand  it,  and  came  over 
here.  I  mean  to  follow  their  example,  and  go  back  again. 
They  fled  —  so  the  story  goes  —  from  persecution.  I  mean 
to  fly  from  persecution  too,  —  the  persecution  of  a  social 
atmosphere  that  I  find  hostile  to  my  constitution,  and  a 
climate  not  fit  for  a  reasonable  being  to  live  in." 

"  I  don't  know  why  you  should  be  so  fierce  against  the 
climate.  By  your  look,  you  seem  to  thrive  in  it." 

"  The  bodily  man  thrives  passably  well.  It's  the  immortal 
part  that  suffers.  Fierce  !  why,  the  climate  makes  me  fierce. 
Who  can  be  a  philosopher  in  such  a  climate  ?  —  or  a  poet  ? 
—  or  an  artist  ?  —  any  thing  but  a  steam  engine  ?  It  is  {a 
perpetual  spur,  an  unremitting  goad.  Nobody  is  happy  in 
it  except  the  men  who  ride  on  locomotives  and  conduct 
express  trains,  —  always  on  the  move.  O,  so  you  go  in  here, 
do  you  ?  " 


154  VASSALL   MORTON. 

"  Yes,  to  see  Mrs.  Primrose.     Will  you  come  too  r  " 

"  No,  thank  you,"  replied  Chester,  walking  away,  with  a 
comical  look. 

Morton  rang  the  door  bell,  and  found  Mrs.  Primrose  at 
home. 

There  was  a  book  on  the  table.  He  took  it  up.  It  was  a 
novel,  lately  published. 

Morton  praised  it. 

Mrs.  Primrose  dissented,  with  great  emphasis. 

"  You  are  severe  upon  the  book." 

"  Not  more  so  than  it  deserves,"  replied  Mrs.  Primrose ; 
"  it  is  too  coarse  to  be  permitted  for  a  moment." 

"  And  yet  the  moral  tone  seems  good  enough." 

".  I  do  not  blame  the  morality  so  much  as  the  bad  taste. 
It  is  full  of  slang  dialogue,  and  was  certainly  written  by  a 
very  unrefined  person." 

"  It  makes  its  characters  speak  as  such  people  speak  in 
real  life." 

"  It  is  not  merely  that,"  said  Mrs.  Primrose,  slightly  purs 
ing  her  mouth  ;  "  it  contains,  besides,  expressions  absolutely 
reprehensible." 

"  One  does  not  admire  its  good  taste ;  but  a  little  blunt 
Saxon  never  did  much  harm." 

"  No  daughter  of  mine  shall  read  it,"  said  Mrs.  Primrose, 
with  gravity. 

"  I  imagine  that  if  literature  is  to  reflect  human  life  truly, 
it  can  hardly  be  limited  to  the  language  of  the  drawing 
.  room." 

"  Then  it  should  be  banished  from  the  drawing  room," 
said  Mrs.  Primrose,  with  severity. 


VASSALL    MORTON.  155 

Here  several  visitors  appeared,  and  Morton  presently  took 
leave. 

He  was  but  a  few  rods  from  the  door,  when  a  quick  step 
came  behind  him. 

"  Hallo,  colonel,  where  are  you  going  at  such  a  rate  ?  " 

Morton  turned,  and  saw  his  classmate,  Rosny. 

"  Why,  Dick,  I'm  glad  to  see  you." 

"  They  tell  me  you're  bound  for  Europe." 

"  Yes." 

"  Well,  it's  a  good  move.  If  a  man  has  money,  he  had 
better  enjoy  it." 

"  I  shall  be  driving  out  of  town  in  an  hour.  Come  and 
dine  with  me." 

"  Sorry,  colonel,  but  it  can't  be  done.  I'm  out  on  the 
stump  in  the  cause  of  democracy.  Shall  be  off  westward  in 
two  hours,  and  shake  the  dust  from  my  shoes  against  this 
nest  of  whiggery  and  old  fogyism." 

"Democracy  is  under  the  weather  just  now,  Dick." 

"  Just  now,  I  grant  you.  What  with  log  cabins  and  hard 
cider,  and  coons,  the  enlightened  people  are  pretty  well  gam 
moned.  But  there's  a  good  time  coming.  Before  you  know 
it,  democracy  will  be  upon  you  again  like  a  load  of  bricks. 
Why,  what  can  you  expect  of  a  party  that  will  take  a  coon 
for  its  emblem  ?  I  saw  one  chained  up  this  morning  in  the 
yard  of  Taft's  tavern,  a  dirty,  mean-looking  beast,  about  half 
way  between  a  jackal  and  an  owl.  He  looked  uncommonly 
well  in  health,  and  could  puff  out  his  fur  as  round  as  a  muff. 
But,  when  you  looked  close,  there  was  nothing  of  him  but 
skin  and  bone  ;  exactly  like  the  whig  party.  He  put  up  his 


156  VASSALL    MORTON. 

nose,  and  smiled  at  me.  I  suppose —  damn  his  impudence  — 
he  tffok  me  for  a  whig.  That  coon  is  going  into  a  decline. 
It  won't  be  long  before  he  is  taken  by  the  tail  and  tossed  over 
Charles  River  bridge ;  and  there  he'll  lie  on  the  mud  at  low 
tide,  for  a  genuine  emblem  of  the  defunct  whig  party,  and  a 
solemn  warning  to  all  coon  worshippers." 

"  Let  the  whigs  alone,  Dick  ;  and  if  you  won't  dine  with 
me,  come  in  here  and  drink  a  glass  of  claret." 

"  That  I'll  do."     And  they  went  into  the  hotel  accordingly. 

As  Rosny  took  up  his  glass,  Morton  observed  a  large  old 
seal  ring  on  his  finger. 

"  Do  you  call  yourself  a  democrat,  and  yet  always  wear 
that  ring  of  yours  ?  " 

"  Why,  what's  the  matter  with  the  ring  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  except  that  it  is  a  badge  of  feudalism,  aristoc 
racy,  and  every  thing  else  abominable  to  your  party." 

"  Pshaw,  man.  Look  here  :  do  you  see  that  crest,  cut  in 
the  stone  ?  That  crest  followed  King  Francis  to  Pavia,  and 
when  Henri  Quatre  charged  at  Ivry,  it  wasn't  far  behind  him. 
It  is  mine  by  right.  It  comes  down  to  me,  straight  as  a  bee 
line,  through  twenty  generations.  And  do  you  think  I'm 
going  to  renounce  my  birthright  ?  No,  be  gad  !  " 

"  I  wouldn't.     But  what  becomes  of  your  democracy?  " 

"  Democracy  is  tall  enough  to  take  care  of  itself.  I  wear 
that  ring  ;  but  it  don't  follow  that  I  stand  on  my  ancestry. 
You  needn't  laugh :  the  case  is  just  this.  If  the  blood  in 
my  veins  makes  me  stand  to  my  colors  where  another  man 
would  flinch,  or  hold  my  head  up  where  another  would  be 
sprawling  on  his  back ;  if  it  gives  me  a  better  pluck,  grit, 


YASSALL    MORTON.  157 

go-ahead  ;  why,  that's  what  I  stand  on,  —  that's  my  patent  of 
nobility.  What  the  deuse  are  you  laughing  at  ?  —  the  per 
sonal  quality,  —  don't  you  see  ?  —  and  not  the  ancestry." 

"  If  you  stand  on  personal  merit,  you'll  be  sure  to  go  under 
before  long.  The  democracy  are  growing  as  jealous  of  that 
as  of  ancestry,  or  of  wealth  either." 

"  Why,  what  do  you  know  about  politics  ?  You  never  had 
any  thing  to  do  with  them.  You  are  no  more  fit  for  a  politi 
cian  than  for  a  fiddler." 

"  I'm  glad  you  think  so.  If  I  must  serve  the  country  in 
any  public  capacity,  I  pray  Heaven  it  may  be  as  a  scavenger 
sooner  than  as  a  politician.  Who  can  touch  pitch  and  be 
clean?  I'll  pay  back  your  compliment,  Dick.  You  are  a 
great  deal  too  downright  to  succeed  in  public  life." 

"  I'll  find  a  way  or  make  one.  But  I  tell  you,  colonel," 
—  and  a  shade  of  something  like  disappointment  passed  over 
his  face,  —  "if  a  man  wants  the  people's  votes,  it's  fifty  to 
one  that  he's  got  to  sink  himself  lower  than  the  gutter  before 
he  gets  them." 

"  Yes,  and  when  the  people  have  turned  out  of  office  every 
man  of  virtue,  honor,  manliness,  independence,  and  ability, 
then  they  will  fling  up  their  caps  and  brag  that  their  day  is 
come,  and  their  triumph  finished  over  the  damned  aristocracy." 

"  You  are  an  unbeliever.  You  haven't  half  faith  enough 
in  the  people.  Now  I  put  it  to  your  common  sense.  Isn't 
there  a  thousand  times  more  patriotism  in  the  laboring  classes 
in  this  country  —  yes,  and  about  as  much  intelligence  —  as  in 
the  rabble  of  sham  fashionables  at  Saratoga,  or  any  other 
muster  of  our  moneyed  snobs  and  flunkeys  ? " 
14 


158  VASSALL    MORTON. 

"  Exceptions  excepted,  yes." 

'*  War  to  the  knife  with  the  codfish  aristocracy  !  They  are 
a  kind  of  mongrel  beast,  expressly  devised  and  concocted  for 
me  to  kick.  I  don't  mean  the  gentlemen  with  money  ;  nor 
the  good  fellows  with  money.  I  know  what  a  gentleman  is  ; 
yes,  and  a  lady,  too,  though  I  do  make  stump  speeches,  and 
shake  hands  all  round  with  the  sovereign  people.  That  sort 
are  welcome  to  their  money.  No,  sir,  it's  the  moneyed  snobs, 
the  gilded  toadstools,  that  it's  my  mission  to  pitch  into." 

"  Excuse  me  a  moment,  Dick,"  said  Morton,  suddenly  leap 
ing  from  his  seat,  as  a  lady  passed  the  window. 

"  A  lady,  eh  !     Then  I'll  be  off." 

"  No,  no,  stay  where  you  are.  I'll  be  back  again  in  three 
minutes." 

He  ran  out  of  the  hotel,  and  walked  at  his  best  pace  in 
pursuit  of  Fanny  Euston,  who,  on  her  part,  was  walking  with 
an  earnest  air,  like  one  whose  thoughts  were  engaged  with 
some  engrossing  subject.  He  reached  her  side,  and  made  a 
movement  to  accost  her ;  but  she  seemed  unconscious  of  his 
presence. 

"  Miss  Fanny  Euston,  will  you  pardon  me  for  breaking  in 
upon  your  reveries  ?  " 

She  turned  and  recognized  him,  but  her  smile  of  recogni 
tion  was  a  very  mournful  one. 

"  I  have  stopped  you  to  take  my  leave,  —  a  good  deal  more 
in  short  hand  than  I  meant  it  should  have  been.  I  shall  sail 
for  Europe  the  day  after  to-morrow." 

"  Yes  ?     Is  not  that  a  little  sudden  ?  " 

"  More  sudden  than  I  wish  it  were.     I  am  not  at  all  in  a 


VASSALL    MORTON.  159 

travelling  humor.  I  have  been  too  much  pressed  for  time  to 
ride  out,  as  I  meant  to  do,  to  your  father's  house." 

"We  are  all  in  town  now.  My  father  came  from  New 
Orleans  yesterday,  very  ill." 

"  I  did  not  hear  of  it.     I  trust  not  dangerously  ill." 

"  He  is  dying.     He  cannot  live  a  week." 

Morton  well  knew  the  strength  and  depth  of  her  attach 
ment  to  her  father.  He  pressed  her  hand  in  silent  sympathy. 

"  It  grieves  me,  Fanny,"  he  said,  after  a  moment,  "  to  part 
from  you  under  such  a  cloud." 

"  Good  by,"  she  replied,  returning  the  friendly  pressure. 
"  I  wish  you  with  all  my  heart  a  pleasant  and  prosperous 
journey." 

Morton  turned  back,  wondering  at  the  sudden  dignity  of 
manner  which  grief  had  given  to  the  wild  and  lawless  Fanny 
Euston. 


CHAPTER   XXVII. 


Ham.  Thou  wouldst  not  think  how  ill's  all  here  about  my  heart,  but  it  is  no 
matter. 

Hor.    Nay,  good  my  lord 

Ham.  It  is  but  foolery;  but  it  is  such  a  kind  of  gain-giving  as  would  perhaps 
trouble  a  woman. 

Hor.    If  your  mind  dislike  any  thing,  obey  it. 

Ham.    Not  a  whit.    We  defy  augury. 


MOETON'S  day  of  departure  came.  It  was  a  comfortless, 
savage,  gusty  morning,  an  east  wind  blowing  in  from  the  bay. 
The  hour  to  set  sail  was  near ;  he  should  have  been  on  board ; 
but  still  he  lingered  with  Edith  Leslie.  The  secrecy  on  which 
her  father  insisted  made  it  impossible  for  her  to  go  with  him 
to  the  ship. 

Morton  forced  himself  away ;  his  hand  wras  on  the  door, 
but  his  heart  failed  him,  and  he  turned  back  again.  On  the 
mind  of  each  there  was  something  more  than  the  pain  of  a 
year's  separation.  A  dark  foreboding,  a  cloud  of  dull  and 
sullen  portent,  hung  over  them  both.  The  smooth  and  bright 
crusting  with  which  habit  and  training  had  iced  over  the 
warm  nature  of  Edith  Leslie  wras  broken  and  swept  away ; 
and  as  Morton  seized  her  hands,  she  disengaged  herself,  and, 
throwing  herself  on  his  neck,  sobbed  convulsively.  Morton 
pressed  her  to  his  heart,  and  buried  his  face  in  her  clustering 
tresses ;  then,  breaking  from  her,  ran  blindly  from  the  house. 

(160) 


TASSALL    MORTON.  161 

He  repaired  to   the  house  of  Meredith,  who  met  him  at  the 
door. 

"  You've   no   time   to   lose.     Here's  the  carriage.     Your   •». 
trunks  are  all  right.     Come  on." 

They  drove  towards  the  wharf. 

"  I'd  give  my  head  to  change  places  with  you,"  said  Meredith. 

"  I  wish  you  could." 

There  was  so  much  pain  and  dejection  in  his  look,  that  his 
friend  could  not  fail  to  observe  it. 

"  You  don't  want  to  go,  then  ?  I  have  noticed  all  along 
that  you  seemed  devilish  cool  about  it." 

"  Ned,"  said  Morton,  "  I  never  used  to  think  myself  super 
stitious  ;  but  I  begin  now  to  change  my  mind.  Heaven 
knows  why,  but  I  have  strange  notions  running  in  my  brain. 
My  dog  howled  all  last  night ;  and  not  long  ago,  an  owl 

yelled   over   my   head,  and   that,  too,  at  a  time But 

you'll  think  I  have  lost  my  wits." 

Meredith,  in  truth,  was  greatly  amazed  at  this  betrayal  of  a 
weakness  of  which,  long  and  closely  as  he  had  known  his 
companion,  he  had  never  suspected  him. 

"  Why,  colonel,  I  have  seen  you  set  out  on  a  journey  as 
long  and  fifty  times  as  hazardous  as  this,  as  carelessly  as  if 
you  were  going  to  a  dinner  party." 

"  I  know  it ;  but  times  are  changed  with  me.  I  am  not 
quite  the  child,  though,  that  you  may  suppose." 

"  If  you  have  such  a  feeling  about  going,  I  would  give  it 
up.  It's  not  too  late." 

"  No,  I  haven't  sunk  yet  to  that  pass."     And,  as  he  spoke, 
the  carriage  stopped  at  the  pier. 
14* 


CHAPTER    XXVIII. 

I  can't  but  say  it  is  an  awkward  sight 
To  see  one's  native  land  receding  through 
The  growing  waters.  —  Byron, 

THE  day  brightened  as  the  steamer  bore  out  to  sea,  and 
the  sun  streamed  along  the  fast-receding  shore.  Morton 
stood  at  the  ship's  stern,  gazing  back  longingly  towards 
his  native  rocks.  Though  far  from  inclining  to  echo  those 
set  terms  of  praise  which  the  progeny  of  the  Puritans  are 
fond  of  lavishing  on  themselves,  he  felt  himself  bound  with 
enduring  cords  to  the  woods  and  hills  of  New  England,  the 
scene  of  his  boyish  aspirations,  of  his  pure  ambition,  and 
his  devoted  love ;  and  while  the  crags  of  Gloucester  faded 
from  his  sight,  his  eyes  were  dimmed  as  he  turned  them 
towards  those  rugged  shores. 

"  Well,  young  man,  seems  to  me  you  look  a  leetle  kind  o' 
streak-ed  at  the  idee  pf  quitting  home,"  said  a  husky  voice  at 
his  elbow. 

Morton  turned,  and  saw  a  small  man,  with  a  meagre,  hatchet 
face,  and  a  huge  pair  of  black  whiskers  hedging  round  a 
countenance  so  dead  and  pallid  that  one  could  see  at  a  glance 
that  he  was  in  a  consumption.  He  had  an  eye  hard  as  a 
flint,  one  that  might  have  faced  a  Gorgon  without  risk. 

(162) 


VASSALL    MORTON.  163 

Morton  regarded  him  with  an  expression  which  told  him, 
as  plainly  as  words,  to  go  about  his  business  ;  but  he  might 
as  well  have  tried  to  look  an  image  of  brass  out  of  coun 
tenance. 

"  Now  /,"  pursued  the  small  man,  "  have  some  reason  to 
feel  bad.  It's  an  even  bet  if  ever  I  see  Boston  lighthouse 
again  —  about  six  of  one  and  half  a  dozen  of  the  other.  I  »* 
consider  myself  a  gone  sucker.  I've  ben  going,  going,  for 
about  two  years,  and  pretty  soon  I  expect  I  shall  be  going, 
going,  gone." 

These  words,  uttered  in  a  sort  of  bravado,  were  interrupted 
by  a  violent  fit  of  coughing. 

"  Ever  crossed  the  pond  before  r "  asked  the  small  man,  as 
soon  as  he  could  gain  breath. 

«  Yes." 

"  Business  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  I  thought  not.  You  don't  look  like  a  business  man.  I 
know  a  business  man,  a  mile  off,  by  the  cut  of  his  jib.  I'm 
a  business  man  myself,  and  a  hard  used  one  at  that." 

Here  a  fresh  fit  of  coughing  began. 

"  Bad  health ;  bad  health,  and  damned  hard  luck,  that's 
what  has  finished  up  this  child.  If  it  worn't  for  them,  I 
should  be  worth  my  hundred  thousand  dollars  this  very 
minute." 

Another  fit  of  coughing. 

"  So  you've  ben  across  before.  Well,  so've  I.  That  was 
three  years  ago,  by  the  doctors'  advice.  It's  great  advice  they 
give  a  man.  It's  good  for  their  pockets,  and  there's  deused 


164  VASSALL    MORTON. 

little  else  it's  good  for.  I  spent  that  year  over  three  thousand 
dollars  ;  and  if  I'd  staid  to  home,  and  stuck  to  my  business, 
/should  have  ben  jest  about  as  well,  and  cleared,  —  well, 
yes,  I  should  have  cleared  double  the  money,  at  the  smallest 
figger." 

More  coughing. 

"  I  expect  you  travel  for  pleasure." 

Morton  replied  by  an  inarticulate  sound,  which  the  other 
might  interpret  as  he  pleased.  He  chose  to  interpret  it  in 
the  affirmative. 

"Well,  that's  all  very  well  for  a  young  man  like  you. 
You  are  young  enough  to  like  to  look  at  the  curiosities,  and 
take  an  interest  in  what's  going  on ;  but  I'm  too  old  a  bird 
for  that.  One  night  I  was  down  to  Palermo,  there  was  an 
eruption  of  Mount  Etna  going  on.  We  were  on  the  piazzy 
at  the  back  of  Marston  the  consul's  house,  and  there  it  was 
blazing  away  to  kill,  way  off  on  the  further  side  of  the  island. 
Well,  the  ladies  was  all  O-ing  and  Ah-ing  like  fits.  '  Non 
sense  ! '  says  I ;  *  it  ain't  a  circumstance  to  the  fire  that  burnt 
down  my  splendid  new  freestone-front  store  on  Broadway. 
Now  that  was  something  worth  saying  O  at.'  " 

More  coughing. 

"  There  was  a  young  man  there  from  Boston,  and  we  went 
round  to  look  at  the  churches.  He  was  all  for  staring  at  the 
pictures,  and  the  marble  images,  and  the  Lord  knows  what  all, 
while  I  went  and  paced  off  the  length  of  the  church  from  the 
door  up  to  the  altar,  and  then  again  crosswise.  There  wasn't 
a  church  in  Palermo  worth  shaking  a  stick  at  that  I  didn't 
know  the  size  of,  and  have  it  all  set  down  on  paper." 


VASSALL    MORTON.  165 

"  And  what  good  did  that  do  you  ?  " 

"  What  good  did  that  do  me  ?  Why,  I  had  something  to 
show  for  my  pains,  something  that  would  keep.  They  wanted 
me  to  ride  up  on  the  back  of  a  jackass  to  the  top  of 
a  mountain  to  see  a  cavern  where  some  she  saint  or  other 
used  to  live,  —  St.  Rosa  Lee,  or  some  such  nigger-minstrel 
name." 

"  St.  Rosalie,  I  suppose  you  mean." 

"  St.  Rosaly  or  St.  Rosa  Lee,  it  comes  to  pretty  much 
the  same.  She  was  fool  enough  to  leave  a  comfortable  home 
—  inside  of  a  palace,  too,  be  gad  —  and  go  and  live  all  alone 
by  herself  in  that  cavern.  Well,  they  wanted  me  to  ride  up 
on  the  jackass  and  see  it.  '  No,'  says  I,  l  you  don't  ketch 
me,'  says  I ;  '  if  I  did,  I  might  as  well  change  places  with  the 
jackass  right  away,'  says  I." 

A  fresh  fit  of  coughing. 

"  Yes,  sir,  bad  health  and  hard  luck,  that's  ben  the  finish 
ing  of  me,  or  else  this  minute  I  could  show  you  my  solid 
hundred  thousand.  The  fire  was  what  begun  it  all.  A 
splendid  freestone-front  store,  that  hadn't  its  beat  in  all  New 
York,  chock  full  of  goods,  that  worn't  more  than  half  covered 
by  the  insurance,  burnt  clean  down  to  the  sidewalk  !  Then 
come  the  great  failure  you've  heard  of — Bragg,  Dash,  and 
Bustup.  I  tell  you,  I  was  sucked  in  there  to  a  handsome 
figger.  Top  of  all  that,  my  health  caved  in,  —  uh,  —  uh,  — 
uh."  Here  the  coughing  grew  violent.  "Well,  I'm  a  gone 
sucker,  and  it's  no  use  crying  over  spilt  milk.  But  if  it 
worn't  for  bad  health  and  damned  hard  luck,  I  should  have 


166  VASSALL    MORTON. 

been  worth  a  hun  —  uh  —  uh  —  uh  —  a  hundred  thousand 
dol  —  uh  —  uh  —  dollars,  —  uh  —  uh  —  uh  —  uh  —  uh." 
"  This  wind  is  too  sharp  for  you,"  observed  Morton. 
"  Fact,"  said  the  invalid ;  "  I  can't  stand  it  no  how." 
He  went  down  to  the  cabin,  Morton's  eye  following  him  in 
pity  and  disgust. 


CHAPTER   XXIX. 

The  useful  science  of  the  world  to  know, 

Which  books  can  never  teach,  nor  pedants  show.  —  Lyttkton. 

THE  steamer,  in  due  time,  reached  Liverpool ;  but  Morton 
remained  only  a  few  days  in  England,  crossing  to  Boulogne, 
and  thence  to  Paris.  Here  he  arrived  late  one  afternoon; 
and  taking  his  seat  at  the  table  d'hote  of  Meurice's  Hotel,  he 
presently  discovered  among  the  guests  the  familiar  profile  of 
Vinal,  who  was  just  returned  from  a  flying  tour  through  the 
provinces.  Vinal  seemed  not  to  see  him  ;  but  at  the  close  of 
the  dinner,  Morton  came  behind  his  chair  and  spoke  to  him. 
At  his  side  sat  a  young  man,  whose  face  Morton  remembered 
to  have  seen  before.  Vinal  introduced  him  as  Mr.  Richards. 
When  a  boy,  he  had  been  a  schoolmate  of  them  both,  and 
now  called  himself  a  medical  student,  living  on  the  other  side 
of  the  Seine.  Having  been  in  Paris  for  two  years  or  more, 
he  had,  as  he  prided  himself,  a  thorough  knowledge  of  it ; 
that  is  to  say,  he  knew  its  sights  of  all  kinds,  and  places  of 
amusement  of  high  and  low  degree.  The  sagacious  Vinal 
thought  himself  happy  in  so  able  and  zealous  a  guide. 

"  Mr.  Vinal  and  I  are  going  on  an  excursion  about  town 
to-night,"  said  Richards  ;  "  won't  you  go  with  us  ?  " 

(167) 


168  VASSALL    MORTON. 

"  Thank  you,"  replied  Morton,  "  I  have  letters  to  write, 
and  do  not  mean  to  go  out  this  evening." 

Vinal  and  Richards  accordingly  set  forth  without  him,  the 
latter  acquitting  himself  wholly  to  his  companion's  satis 
faction  and  his  own.  Vinal,  who  inclined  very  little  to 
youthful  amusements,  contemplated  all  he  saw  with  the  eye 
of  a  philosopher  rather  than  of  a  sybarite,  looking  upon  it  as 
a  curious  study  of  human  nature,  in  the  knowledge  of  which 
he  was  always  eager  to  perfect  himself.  In  the  course  of 
their  excursion,  they  entered  a  large  and  handsome  building 
on  the  Boulevard  des  Italiens.  Here  they  passed  through  a 
succession  oL  rooms  filled  with  men  engaged  in  various 
games  of  hazard,  more  or  less  deep,  and  came  at  length  to 
two  small  apartments,  which  seemed  to  form  the  penetralia 
of  the  temple. 

In  the  farther  of  these  was  a  table,  about  which  sat  some 
eight  or  ten  well-dressed  men,  and  at  the  head,  a  sedate,  col 
lected,  vigilant-looking  person,  with  a  little  wooden  rake  in 
his  hand. 

"  Messieurs,  tout  est  fait.  Rien  ne  va  plus"  he  said, 
drawing  towards  him  a  plentiful  heap  of  gold  coin,  almost  at 
the  instant  that  Vinal  and  Richards  came  in.  The  game  was 
that  moment  finished. 

As  he  spoke,  a  strong,  thick-set  man  rose  abruptly  from  the 
table,  muttering  a  savage  oath  through  his  black  moustache, 
and  brushing  fiercely  past  the  two  visitors,  went  out  at  the 
door.  Richards  pressed  Vinal' s  arm,  as  a  hint  that  he  should 
observe  him.  As  the  game  was  not  immediately  resumed, 
they  soon  left  the  room  ;  and  after  staking  and  losing  a  few 
small  pieces  at  another  table,  returned  to  the  street. 


VASSALL    MORTON.  169 

"  Did  you  observe  that  man  who  passed  us  ? "  asked 
Richards. 

"  Yes.     He  seemed  out  of  humor  with  his  luck." 

"  He  was  clean  emptied  out ;  I  would  swear  to  it.  I  was 
afraid  he  would  see  me  as  he  went  by,  but  he  didn't." 

"  Why,  do  you  know  him  ?  " 

"  O,  yes  ;  and  you  ought  to  know  him  too,  if  you  want  to 
understand  how  things  are  managed  hereabouts.  He's  a 
patriot,  —  agitator,  —  democrat,  —  red  republican,  —  conspir 
ator,  —  you  can  call  him  whichever  you  like,  according  to 
taste.  He's  mixed  up  with  all  the  secret  clubs,  secret  com 
mittees,  and  what  not,  from  one  end  of  the  continent  to  the 
other.  He's  a  sort  of  political  sapper  and  miner,  —  not 
exactly  like  our  patriots  of  '76,  but  all's  fair  that  aims  a  kick 
at  the  House  of  Hapsburg." 

"  Has  he  any  special  spite  in  that  quarter  ?  " 

"  He  has  been  intriguing  so  long  in  Austria  and  Lombardy, 
that  now  he  could  not  show  his  face  there  a  moment  without 
being  arrested.  So  he  is  living  here,  where  he  keeps  very 
quiet  at  present,  for  fear  of  consequences." 

"  What  is  his  name  ?  " 

"  Speyer,  —  Henry  Speyer." 

"  A  German  ?  " 

"  No  ;  he's  of  no  nation  at  all.  He  belongs  to  a  sort  of 
mongrel  breed,  from  the  Rock  of  Gibraltar,  —  a  cross  of 
half  the  nations  in  Europe.  They  go  by  the  name  of  Rock 
Scorpions.  Speyer  is  a  compound  of  German,  Spanish, 
English,  French,  Genoese,  and  Moorish,  and  the  result  is  the 
greatest  rascal  that  ever  went  unhung.  Still  you  ought  to 
15 


170  VASSALL    MORTON. 

know  him ;  lie  is  a  curiosity,  —  one  of  the  men  of  the  times. 
If  you  want  to  know  the  secret  springs  of  the  revolution  that 
all  the  newspapers  will  be  full  of  not  many  years  from  this, 
why,  Speyer  is  one  of  them." 

"  But  is  there  not  some  risk  in  being  in  communication 
with  such  a  man  ?  " 

"  Yes,  if  one  isn't  cautious.  But,  as  I'll  manage  it,  it  will 
be  perfectly  safe." 

Vinal,  though  morbidly  timorous  as  respected  peril  to  life 
or  limb,  was  not  wholly  deficient  in  the  courage  of  the  in 
triguer —  a  quality  quite  distinct  from  the  courage  of  the 
soldier.  Any  thing  which  promised  to  show  him  human 
nature  under  a  new  aspect,  or  disclose  to  him  a  hidden  spring 
of  human  action,  had  a  resistless  attraction  in  his  eyes.  He 
therefore  assented  to  RicharJs's  proposal,  and  promised  that, 
at  some  more  auspicious  time,  he  would  go  with  him  to  the 
patriot's  lodging. 


CHAPTER    XXX. 

Those  travelled  youths  whom  tender  mothers  wean 
And  send  abroad  to  see  and  to  be  seen, 
Have  made  all  Europe's  vices  so  well  known, 
They  seem  almost  as  natural  as  our  own. —  Churchill. 

ON  the  next  morning,  Vinal,  Morton,  and  two  other  young 
Americans  were  seated  together  in  the  coffee  room  at  Meu- 
rice's.  They  were  discussing  plans  of  travel. 

"  Then  you  don't  intend  to  stay  long  in  Paris,"  said  one 
of  the  strangers  to  Morton. 

"  Not  at  present.  I  shall  set  out  in  a  few  days  for 
Vienna,  and  then  go  down  the  Danube." 

"  That's  an  original  idea.  What  will  you  find  there  worth 
seeing  ?  " 

"It's  a  fancy  of  mine.  There  is  no  place  in  Europe  where 
one  can  see  such  a  conglomerate  of  nations  and  races  as  in 
the  provinces  along  the  Danube.  I  like  to  see  the  human 
animal  in  all  his  varieties,  —  that's  my  specialty." 

"  But  what  facilities  will  you  find  there  for  travelling  ?  " 

"  0,  I  shall  be  content  with  any  that  offer  ;  tho  vehicles  of 
the  country,  whatever  they  are.  I  don't  believe  in  travelling 
en  grand  seigneur.  By  mixing  with  the  people,  and  doing 
at  Rome  as  the  Romans  do,  one  learns  in  a  month  more  than 
he  could  learn  in  ten  years  by  the  other  way." 

(171) 


172  YASSALL    MORTON. 

"  You'll  take  your  servant  with  you,  I  suppose." 

"  No.     I  shall  discharge  him  when  I  leave  Paris." 

After  conversing  for  some  time  longer,  Morton  and  the  two 
young  men  left  the  room,  while  Vinal  still  remained  faithful 
to  the  attractions  of  his  omelet.  He  was  interrupted  hy 
the  advent  of  the  small  man  who  had  accosted  Morton  in  the 
steamer,  and  had  since  favored  him  with  his  company  from 
Liverpool  to  Paris. 

"  Well,  here's  a  pretty  business,  damned  if  there  isn't," 
said  the  new  arrival,  seating  himself  indignantly. 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  "  asked  Vinal. 

"  What's  the  matter !  Why,  there's  a  good  deal  the 
matter.  There  was  a  young  man  in  Philadelphy  named  Wil- 
kins,  —  John  Wilkins,  —  I've  known  him  ever  sence  he  was 
knee  high  to  a  toad,  and  a  likelier  young  feller  there  isn't  in 
the  States.  He  was  goin'  on  to  make  a  right  smart,  active, 
business  man,  too.  Well,  he  was  clerk  in  one  of  the  biggest 
drug  concerns  south  of  New  York  city,  —  Gooch  and  Scam- 
mony,  —  I  tell  you,  they  do  a  tall  business  out  west,  and 
no  mistake.  No,  sir,  Gooch  and  Scammony  ain't  hardly  got 
their  beat  in  the  drug  business  nowhere." 

"  But  what  about  the  clerk  ?  " 

"  What  about  him  ?  Why,  that's  just  what  I  was  going 
on  to  tell  you.  Well,  John,  he  had  a  little  money  laid  up  ; 
so  he  thought  he'd  just  come  out  and  see  a  bit  of  the  world. 
Well,  there  was  a  German  there  at  Philadelphy  who  had  to 
cut  stick  from  the  old  country  on  account  of  some  political 
muss  or  other.  John  and  he  worn't  on  good  terms  ;  —  it  was 
about  a  gal,  John  says.  However,  jest  about  the  time  John 


YASSALL    MORTON.  173 

talked  of  coming  out  to  Europe,  the  German  comes  and 
makes  it  up,  and  pretends  to  be  friends  again.  '  John,'  says 
he,  '  I've  got  relations  out  to  Vienny,  where  I  come  from  ; 
first-rate,  genteel  folks ;  now/  says  he,  *  perhaps  you  might 
like  me  to  make  you  acquainted  with  'em.  They'd  do  the 
handsome  thing  by  you,  and  no  mistake.'  '  Well,'  says  John, 
'  I  don't  mind  if  you  do.'  So  the  German  gives  him  some 
letters  ;  and,  sure  enough,  they  treated  him  very  civil ;  but 
the  very  next  morning,  before  he  was  out  of  bed,  up  comes 
the  police,  and  carries  him  off  to  jail;  and  that,  I  guess, 
would  have  been  about  the  last  we'd  ever  have  seen  of  John 
Wilkins,  if,  by  the  slimmest  ghost  of  a  chance,  he  hadn't  got 
word  to  our  minister,  and  the  minister  blowed  out  so  hard 
about  it,  that  they  just  let  John  go,  and  said  they  was  very 
sorry,  and  it  was  all  a  mistake,  but  he'd  better  make  tracks 
out  of  Austria  in  double  quick  time,  because  if  he  didn't, 
they  didn't  know  as  there  was  any  body  there  would  under 
take  to  be  responsible  for  what  might  happen." 

Here  the  orator's  breath  quite  failed,  and  he  coughed  till 
his  hatchet  face  turned  blue.  Vinal  reflected  in  silence. 

"  Wasn't  he  an  Amerikin?  "  pursued  the  small  man,  "  and 
didn't  he  have  an  Amerikin  passport  in  his  pocket  ?  I  expect 
to  go  where  I  please,  and  keep  what  company  I  please,  — 
uh,  —  uh,  —  uh.  I'm  an  Amerikin,  —  uh,  —  and  that's 
enough  ;  and  a  considerable  wide  margin  to  spare,  —  uh,  — 
uh,  — uh." 

"  But  what  evidence  is  there   that  the  German  had  any 
thing  to  do  with  the  affair  ?  " 
15* 


174  VASSALL    MOBTON. 

"  That's  the  deused  part  of  the  business.  There  ain't  no 
evidence  to  fix  it  on  him." 

"  Were  the  letters  he  gave  your  friend  sealed  ?  " 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it.  They  was  open,  and  read  jest  as  fair  as 
need  be." 

"  Probably  he  was  imprudent,  and  said  something  which 
compromised  him.  Stone  walls,  you  know,  have  ears  in 
Austria." 

«  Well,  I  don't  know." 

"  It  is  very  easy  for  an  American  to  get  into  trouble  with 
the  Austrian  government.  There  is  a  natural  antipathy 
between  them." 

"  Damn  such  a  government.*' 

"  Exactly  ;  you're  quite  right  there." 

"  Why,  if  you  or  me  was  to  go  down  to  Austria,  and  hap 
pen  to  rip  out  what  we  thought  of  'em,  where's  the  guarantee 
that  they  wouldn't  stick  us  down  in  some  of  their  prisons, 
and  nobody  be  any  wiser  for  it  ?  " 

"  There  is  no  guarantee  at  all." 

"  I've  heerd  said  that  such  things  has  happened." 

"  No  doubt  of  it.  About  this  German,  —  I  should  advise 
your  friend  to  be  cautious  how  he  accuses  him  of  any  inten 
tion  of  having  him  arrested.  If  the  letters  had  been  sealed, 
there  might  have  been  some  ground  for  suspicion ;  but  as  the 
case  stands,  I  do  not  see  how  there  can  be  any.  And  it  is  a 
little  hard  upon  a  man,  when  he  meant  to  do  a  kindness,  to 
charge  him  with  playing  such  a  trick  as  that." 

"  Well,  it  may  be  as  you  think.  It  looks  like  enough, 
any  way." 


VASSALL    MOKTON.  175 

The  small  man  addressed  himself  to  his  breakfast.  Vinal 
sat  playing  with  his  spoon,  his  brain  filled  with  busy  and 
feverish  thoughts. 

In  a  few  minutes,  a  messenger  from  an  American  banking 
house  came  in,  looking  about  the  room  as  if  in  search  of 
some  person.  Observing  Vinal,  whom  he  had  seen  before, 
he  asked  if  he  knew  where  Mr.  Morton  was. 

"  Letters  there  for  me  ?  "  demanded  Vinal,  taking  several 
which  the  messenger  held  in  his  hand,  and  glancing  over  the 
directions. 

"  No,  sir,  they  are  all  Mr.  Morton's." 

At  that  instant  Vinal  discovered  the  well-remembered 
handwriting  of  Edith  Leslie.  His  pale  face  grew  a  shade 
paler. 

"  O,  Mr.  Morton's  !  I  don't  know  where  you  will  find 
him,"  and  he  gave  back  the  letters  to  the  messenger,  who 
presently  left  the  room. 

Vinal  sat  for  a  few  minutes  more,  brooding  in  silence  ; 
then  slowly  rose,  and  walked  away.  In  going  towards  the 
room  of  the  liotel  which  he  occupied,  he  passed  along  a 
corridor,  opposite  the  end  of  which  opened  a  parlor  occupied 
by  Morton.  The  door  was  open,  and  Vinal,  as  he  advanced, 
could  plainly  see  his  rival  within.  Morton  had  been  on  the 
point  of  going  out.  His  hat  and  gloves  lay  on  the  table  at  his 
side  ;  near  them  were  three  or  four  sealed  letters  ;  another 
—  Vinal  well  knew  from  whom  —  was  open  in  his  hands  ; 
and  as  he  stood  bending  over  it,  there  was  a  sunlight  in  the 
eye  of  the  successful  lover  which  shot  deadly  envy  into  the 
breast  of  Vinal.  Hate  and  jealousy  gnawed  and  rankled  at 
his  heart. 


CHAPTER    XXXI. 

Though  I  do  hate  him  as  I  do  hell  pains, 

I  must  throw  out  a  flag  and  sign  of  love.  —  OtJietto. 

THAT  day  Vinal  drove  to  the  Quartier  Latin,  called  upon 
his  friend  Richards,  and  asked  him  to  dine  at  the  Trois 
Freres  Proven£aux.  Mr.  Richards  was  never  known  to 
decline  such  an  invitation. 

To  the  Trois  Freres  accordingly  they  repaired.  Richards, 
whose  social  position  at  home  was  much  inferior  to  that  of 
his  entertainer,  thought  the  latter  a  capital  fellow  ;  especially 
when  Vinal  flattered  him  by  deferring  to  his  better  taste  and 
experience  in  the  ordering  of  the  dinner.  But  when,  after 
nightfall,  they  issued  forth  again  upon  the  open  area  of  the 
Palais  Royal,  the  delicate  Vinal  shivered  with  the  cold.  A 
chill  wind  and  a  dreary  rain  had  set  in,  and  Vinal,  always 
cautious  in  such  matters,  said  that  before  proceeding  on  their 
evening's  amusements,  he  would  go  to  Meurice's  and  get  an 
overcoat. 

The  overcoat  being  found,  Vinal,  buttoned  to  the  chin, 
came  down  the  stairway,  and  rejoined  Richards. 

Morton  had  just  before  sent  a  servant  for  a  carriage,  to 
drive  to  the  opera,  and  was  waiting  wrapped  in  his  cloak, 

on  the  steps  outside  the  door. 

(176) 


VASSALL    MOKTON.  177 

"  What  shall  our  first  move  be  ? "  asked  Richards  of  Vinal, 
as  they  passed  out. 

"  Whatever  you  like." 

"  You  had  better  give  the  word." 

"  Then  suppose  we  go  and  see  your  friend,  the  professor." 

"  Who  the  deuse  is  Richards' s  friend,  the  professor  ?  " 
thought  Morton,  as  the  others  passed  without  observing  him. 

"  The  professor"  was  a  cant  term  for  Mr.  Henry  Speyer. 

Speyer  lived  in  an  obscure  part  of  the  Latin  quarter  ;  and 
Richards,  who  was  vain  of  his  intimacy  with  this  scoundrel, 
as  indicating  how  deeply  he  was  versed  in  Paris  life,  ap 
proached  his  lodging  with  much  circumspection,  by  dim  and 
devious  routes. 

"  My  name  is  Wilton,  and  I  hail  from  New  Orleans,"  said 
Vinal,  as  they  reached  the  patriot's  threshold. 

As  Mr.  Wilton,  of  New  Orleans,  then,  Vinal  became  known 
to  Mr.  Henry  Speyer.  The  latter' s  quarters  were  any  thing 
but  commodious  or  attractive  ;  and  Richards  invited  him  to  a 
petit  souper  at  his  own  lodgings,  which  were  not  very  remote. 
Leaving  Speyer  to  make  his  own  way  thither,  he  proceeded 
to  summon  two  additional  guests,  in  the  persons  of  two 
friends  of  his  own,  his  favorite  partners  at  the  Chaumiere. 
With  the  aid  of  wine  and  cigars,  the  party  became,  in  time, 
very  animated.  Vinal,  who  had  a  quick  and  pungent  wit, 
drew  upon  himself  much  applause,  and  Speyer  regarded  him 
with  especial  commendation.  But  while  he  played  his  part 
thus  successfully,  he  was  studying  his  companions,  as  a  scholar 
studies,  a  book ;  studiously  keeping  himself  cool ;  sipping  a 
few  drops  of  his  wine,  and  slyly  spilling  the  rest  under  the 


178  VASSALL    MOBTON. 

table,  while  he  did  his  best  to  stimulate  the  others,  and  espe 
cially  Speyer,  to  drink.  Speyer  drank,  indeed,  but  the  wine 
seemed  to  produce  no  more  effect  on  him  than  water.  He 
remained  as  cool  as  Vinal  himself.  The  latter,  young  as  he 
was,  was  a  close  and  penetrating  judge  of  men ;  and  when, 
at  two  o'clock  in  the  morning,  he  returned  to  his  hotel,  he 
carried  with  him  the  conviction  that,  in  his  present  beggared 
condition,  a  few  hundred  francs  would  bribe  the  patriot  to 
commit  any  moderately  safe  villany. 

The  evening,  however,  had  had  one  result  which  Vinal 
regretted.  Mr.  Richards,  being  obfuscated  with  champagne, 
had  repeatedly  called  him  by  his  true  name ;  so  that  Speyer 
was  fully  aware  that  his  new  acquaintance  was  not  Mr.  Wil 
ton,  of  New  Orleans,  but  Mr.  Horace  Vinal,  of  Boston. 


CHAPTER   XXXII. 

And,  far  the  blackest  there,  the  traitor  friend.  —  Dryden. 

• 

SEVERAL  days  had  passed,  during  which  Vinal  contrived  to 
have  more  than  one  private  interview  with  his  new  acquaint 
ance,  Speyer.  He  had  sounded  him  with  much  astuteness ; 
found  that  he  could  serve  him ;  and  was  confirmed  in  his 
assurance  that  he  would. 

Morton,  he  knew,  was  to  leave  Paris  on  the  next  morning. 
The  time  to  act  was  now,  or  never. 

At  about  three  in  the  afternoon,  he  discovered  his  rival 
sauntering  along  an  avenue  in  the  garden  of  the  Tuileries ; 
and  walking  up  behind,  he  joined  him. 

"  There  are  some  of  us,"  said  Vinal,  after  a  few  moments' 
conversation,  "  going  to  Versailles  to-morrow.  Will  you  go  ?  " 

"  I  mean  to  leave  Paris  to-morrow." 

"  To-morrow  !     That's  very  sudden." 

"  I  shall  come  back  again  in  a  few  months." 

"  Your  first  move  is  to  Italy,  I  think  you  said." 

"  No,  to  Austria  and  the  Danube." 

"  O,  I  remember ;  it  is  West  who  is  going  to  Italy.  I 
think  he  has  chosen  the  better  route  of  the  two." 

"  Yes,  as  far  as  history  and  works  of  art  are  concerned. 
But  the  Austrian  provinces  are  the  best  field  for  me.  I 

(179) 


180  VASSALL    MOKTON. 

am  mounted  on  a  hobby,  you  know,  and  my  time  is  so  short 
that  I  must  make  the  most  of  what  I  have." 

"  You  wish  to  see  the  people  —  the  different  races  —  is 
that  it  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  You  ought  to  be  well  booked  up  before  you  go,  or  you'll 
lose  time.  By  the  way,  I  made  an  acquaintance  a  little 
while  ago  in  the  diligence  from  Strasburg  —  a  very  agreeable 
man,  a  professor  at  Berlin " 

"  0,  the  professor  whom  you  and  Richards  were  going  to 
see,  the  other  night." 

A  thrill  shot  through  Vinal's  nerves ;  but  the  unsuspecting 
Morton  almost  instantly  relieved  his  terror. 

"  I  was  standing  on  the  steps  as  you  went  out,  and  heard 
you  say  that  you  were  going  to  visit  him.  From  the  way  in 
which  you  spoke,  I  imagined  him  to  be  some  professor  of  the 
noble  art  of  self-defence." 

"  Ha,  ha !  "  laughed  Vinal,  not  quite  recovered  from  his  sur 
prise  ;  "  no,  not  precisely  that ;  Speyer  is  a  philologist  — 
that's  his  department." 

"  And  Richards  knows  him,  too  ?  " 

"  Yes,  through  my  introduction." 

"  From  your  calling  him  '  his  friend,  the  professor/  I 
imagined  that  the  acquaintance  began  the  other  way." 

"  Yes,  his  friend,  with  a  vengeance.  Confound  the  fellow, 
as  I  was  walking  with  him  the  other  day,  we  met  Speyer,  and 
I,  thinking  no  harm,  introduced  them  ;  but  it  wasn't  twenty- 
four  hours  before  Richards  was  at  him  to  borrow  money, 
which  Speyer  let  him  have.  I  dare  say  Richards  has  bled 
you  as  well." 


VASSALL   MOETON.  181 

«  No." 

"  No  ?  Then  you  are  luckier  than  I  am.  I  advise  you  to 
keep  out  of  his  way,  or  he'll  pin  you  before  you  know  it." 

"  I  should  judge  as  much." 

"  I  spoke  of  Professor  Speyer  because  he  was  born  in  some 
outlandish  corner  of  the  Austrian  empire,  —  Croatia,  I  think 
he  told  me,  —  and  had  his  head  full  of  political  soap  bubbles 
founded  on  the  distribution  of  races  in  that  part  of  the  world. 
He  put  me  to  sleep  half  a  dozen  times  with  talking  about 
Pansclavism  and  the  manifest  destinies  of  the  Sclavic  peoples. 
He  is  the  very  man  for  you ;  and  I  am  sorry  I  didn't  think 
of  it  before." 

"  Well,"  said  Morton,  "  I  must  blunder  through  as  I  can." 

"  Are  you  at  leisure  ?  I'll  go  with  you  this  afternoon,  if 
you  like,  and  call  on  him." 

"  I  dare  say  my  visit  would  bore  him." 

"  Get  him  upon  the  races  in  the  Austrian  empire,  and  he 
will  be  more  apt  to  bore  you.  Are  you  free  at  four  o'clock  ?  " 
pursued  Vinal,  looking  at  his  watch. 

"  Yes,  quite  so." 

"  Very  well.  I'm  going  now  to  my  tailor's.  Every  gen 
uine  American,  you  know,  must  have  a  new  fit-out  in  Paris. 
I'll  meet  you  at  Meurice's  at  four,  and  we'll  go  from  there  to 
Speyer's." 

Vinal  had  three  quarters  of  an  hour  to  spare.  He  spent  a 
part  of  them  in  forging  the  next  link  of  his  chain.  At  four 
he  rejoined  Morton,  and  they  walked  out  together. 

"  I  think  you'll  like  Professor  Speyer,"  said  Vinal.  "  I 
have  become  quite  intimate  with  him,  on  the  strength  of  a 
16 


182  VASSALL    MORTON. 

fortnight's  acquaintance.  He  urges  me  to  go  to  Hungary  and 
Transylvania,  and  offered  me  introductions  to  his  friends 
there.  It  would  not  be  a  bad  plan  for  you  to  ask  him  for 
letters.  They  would  not  make  you  acquainted  with  the  Aus 
trian  Jiaut  ton,  but  they  would  bring  you  into  contact  with 
men  of  his  own  stamp,  —  people  of  knowledge  and  intelli 
gence,  who  could  be  of  great  service  to  you,  and  with  whom 
you  needn't  be  on  terms  of  much  ceremony.  —  Here's  the 
place  ;  —  he  lives  here." 

It  was  a  lodging  house  on  the  Rue  Rivoli.  Vinal  rang  the 
bell.  The  porter  appeared. 

"  Is  Professor  Speyer  at  home  ?  " 

"  Non,  monsieur ;  il  est  sorti" 

Vinal  had  just  bribed  the  man  to  give  this  answer. 

"  That's  unlucky,"  he  said.  "  Well,  if  you  like,  we  can 
come  again  this  evening." 

"  I  am  engaged  to  dine  this  evening  at  Madame *s." 

Vinal  had  known  of  this  engagement. 

"  I  don't  see,  then,  but  that  you  will  lose  your  chance  with 
Speyer.  Well,  fortune  de  guerre.  I  should  like  to  have  had 
you  see  him,  though." 

And  they  walked  towards  the  Boulevards,  conversing  on 
indifferent  matters. 


CHAPTER   XXXIII. 


Whose  nature  is  so  far  from  doing  evil 

That  he  suspects  none ;  on  whose  foolish  honesty 

My  practices  ride  easy. — King  Lear. 


EARLY  the  next  morning,  Morton  was  writing  in  his  room, 
when  Vinal  came  in. 

"  Are  you  still  bent  on  going  off  to-day  ?  " 

"Yes,  within  an  hour." 

"  I  was  passing  last  evening  by  Professor  Speyer's  lodgings, 
and,  seeing  a  light  at  his  window,  went  in.  I  told  him  that 
I  had  come  to  find  him  in  the  afternoon  with  an  old  acquaint 
ance  of  mine,  who  was  going  to  the  Austrian  provinces,  and 
that  I  had  advised  you  to  ask  introductions  from  him  to  his 
friends  there.  He  was  a  good  deal  interested,  as  I  knew  he 
would  be,  in  what  I  told  him  about  the  objects  of  your  jour 
ney.  '  I'm  very  sorry,'  he  said, '  that  I  did  not  see  your  friend, 
for  I  could  have  given  him  letters  which  I  don't  doubt  would 
have  been  of  great  use  to  him.  But  wait  a  few  minutes,' 
said  he,  '  and  I'll  write  a  few  lines  now.'  Here  they  are," 
continued  Vinal,  giving  to  Morton  four  or  five  notes  of  in 
troduction.  "  You  can  put  them  in  your  pocket,  and  use 
them  or  not,  as  you  may  find  convenient." 

"  I'm  very  much  obliged  to  you,"  said  Morton.  "  Tell 
Professor  Speyer  that  I  am  greatly  indebted  to  his  kindness, 

(183) 


184  VASSALL    MOBTOX. 

and  shall  be  happy  to  avail  myself  of  it.  You  are  looking 
very  pale  ;  are  you  ill  ?  " 

"  No,  not  at  all,"  stammered  Vinal,  "  but,  what  is  nearly  as 
bad,  I  have  been  kept  awake  all  night  with  a  raging  toothache." 

He  had  been  awake  all  night,  but  not  with  toothache. 

"  There  is  one  consolation  for  that  trouble ;  cold  steel  will 
cure  it." 

"  Yes,  but  the  remedy  is  none  of  the  pleasantest.  I  won't 
interrupt  you  any  longer.  Good  by.  I  wish  you  a  pleasant 
journey." 

He  shook  hands  with  Morton,  and,  pressing  his  haggard 
cheek,  as  if  to  stifle  the  pain,  left  the  room. 

With  a  new  letter  from  Edith  Leslie  before  him,  Morton 
saw  the  world  in  rose  tint.  Happiness  blinded  him,  and  he 
was  in  no  mood  to  doubt  of  human  nature.  He  blamed  him 
self  for  his  harsh  opinions  of  Vinal. 

"  It's  very  generous  of  him  to  interest  himself  at  this  time, 
in  my  affairs.  ' '  Tis  my  nature's  plague  to  spy  into  abuses.' 
I  have  misjudged  him.  He  is  a  better  fellow  than  I  ever  took 
him  for." 

The  notes  were  written  in  a  peculiarly  neat,  small  hand, 
and  bore  the  signature  of  Henry  Speyer.  They  all  spoke  of 
Morton  as  interested  in  a  common  object  with  the  person 
addressed;  but,  with  this  exception,  there  was  nothing  in 
them  which  drew  his  attention,  especially  as  they  were  in 
German,  a  language  with  which  he  was  not  very  familiar. 
As  for  the  circumstance  of  their  having  been  given  at  all  to  a 
person  whom  the  writer  had  never  seen,  Morton  accounted 
for  it  on  the  score  of  the  good  natured  professor's  desire  to 
oblige  his  valued  friend  Vinal. 


CHAPTEB   XXXIV. 

Things  bad  begun  make  strong  themselves  by  ill.  —  Macbeth. 

THE  requisites  of  a  successful  villain  are  manifold.  The 
toughened  conscience,  the  ready  wit,  the  sage  experience,  the 
mind  tutored,  like  lago,  in  all  qualities  of  human  dealing,  — 
all  these,  in  some  reasonable  measure,  Vinal  had ;  but  he 
miserably  lacked  the  vulgar,  but  no  less  needful  requisite  of 
a  sound  bodily  fibre  to  support  the  workings  of  his  brain. 
His  mind  was  a  good  lever  with  a  feeble  fulcrum ;  a  gun 
mounted  on  a  tottering  rampart.  When  every  breath  of 
emotion  that  touches  the  fine-strung  organism  quivers  along 
the  electric  chord  to  the  brain,  kindling  there  strange  pertur 
bations,  then  philosophy  must  lower  her  tone,  and  stoicism 
itself  must  soon  confess  that  its  only  resource  is  to  avoid  the 
enemy  with  whom  it  cannot  cope.  Vinal  was  but  ill  fitted 
to  act  the  part  he  had  undertaken.  The  excitements  of 
villany  were  too  much  for  him.  Peace  of  mind  was  as  need 
ful  to  him  as  food  and  drink.  He  had  been  battling  all  his 
life  against  what  he  imagined  to  be  a  defect  of  his  mental 
forces,  but  which  had,  in  the  main,  no  deeper  root  than  in  the 
sensitiveness  of  his  bodily  constitution.  In  prudence  and 
common  sense,  he  was  bound  to  seek  asylum  in  that  blissful 
serenity,  that  benignant  calm,  said  to  be  the  unfailing  attend- 
16*  (185) 


186  VASSALL    MORTOX. 

ant  on  piety  and  good  works.  Never  did  Nature  give  a 
sharper  hint  than  she  gave  to  Vinal  to  eschew  evil  courses, 
and  leaving  rascality  to  tougher  nerves,  to  tread  the  placid 
paths  of  virtue  and  discretion.  Vinal  saw  fit  to  disregard 
the  hint,  and  the  consequences  became  somewhat  grievous. 

While  his  intrigue  was  in  progress,  his  nerves  had  given 
him  no  great  trouble.  Hate  and  jealousy  absorbed  him. 
He  was  steadfast  in  his  purpose  to  get  rid  of  his  rival.  But 
now  that  the  mine  was  laid,  and  the  match  lighted,  a  change 
began  to  come  upon  him.  It  was  his  maiden  felony  ;  his 
first  debut  in  the  distinct  character  of  a  scoundrel ;  and, 
though  his  conscience  was  none  of  the  liveliest,  it  sufficed  to 
visit  him  with  some  qualms.  Anxieties,  doubts,  fears,  began 
to  prey  upon  him ;  sleep  failed  him ;  his  nerves  were  set 
more  and  more  on  edge  ;  in  short,  body  and  mind,  mutually 
acting  on  each  other,  were  fast  bringing  him  to  a  state  quite 
adverse  to  the  maxims  of  his  philosophy. 

When  a  sophomore  in  college,  his  favorite  reading  had 
been  Foster's  Essay  on  Decision  of  Character,  and  he  had 
aspired  to  realize  in  his  own  person  the  type  of  character 
therein  set  forth ;  the  man  of  steel,  who,  in  his  firm  march 
towards  his  ends,  knows  neither  doubts,  nor  waverings,  nor 
relentings.  Of  this  ideal  he  was  now  falling  lamentably 
short ;  and  as,  at  two  o'clock  in  the  morning,  he  rose  from  his 
restless  bed,  and  paced  his  chamber  to  and  fro,  vainly  up 
braiding  his  weakness,  and  struggling  to  reason  down  the 
rebellious  vibration  of  his  nerves,  he  was  any  thing  but  the 
inexorable  hero  of  his  boyish  fancy. 

"The  thing  is  done,"  — so  he  communed  with  himself, — 


VASSALL    MORTON.  187 

"it  was  deliberately  done,  and  well  done.  That  hound,  is 
chained  and  muzzled,  or  will  be  so  soon.  For  a  time,  at 
least,  he  is  out  of  my  path.  But  is  he  ?  What  if  he  should 
escape  the  trap  ?  What  if  those  men  to  whom  I  have  sent 
him  are  less  an  abomination  in  the  eyes  of  the  government 
than  there  is  reason  to  think  them  ?  No  doubt  he  will  be 
compromised  ;  no  doubt  he  will  get  into  difficulty  ;  but  if  he 
should  get  out  again !  if,  within  a  year  from  this  he  should 
come  home  to  charge  me  with  trapanning  him  !  Pshaw  !  he 
could  prove  nothing.  He  would  be  thought  malicious  if  he 
accused  me.  But  he  may  suspect !  "  and  this  idea  sufficed  to 
fill  his  excited  mind  with  fresh  agitation.  For  three  nights 
he  had  been  without  sleep  ;  and  now  his  irritable  system  was 
wrought  almost  to  the  point  of  fever. 

"  Half  measures  are  nothing !  The  nail  must  be  driven 
home  and  clinched  !  I  must  make  sure  of  him."  And  early 
in  the  morning  he  went  to  find  Speyer. 

Speyer  was  not  to  be  found.  In  his  eagerness,  he  went 
again  and  again  to  seek  him,  though  he  knew  that  there  was 
risk  in  doing  so.  At  length  he  succeeded ;  and  in  spite  of 
his  resolute  and  long-practised  self-control,  his  confederate 
saw  at  a  glance,  in  his  shining  eye,  flushed  cheek,  and  the 
nervous  compression  of  his  lips,  that  he  was  under  a  great, 
though  a  painfully  repressed  excitement. 

"Well,  monsieur,  do  you  hear  any  thing  from  your 
friend  ? " 

"  No,  it  is  not  time  to  hear." 

"  You  will  have  to  wait  a  long  while  before  the  time 
comes." 


188  VASSALL    MORTON. 

"  Your  letters  were  very  well  so  far  as  they  go  ;  but  the 
thing  should  be  done  thoroughly.  What  I  wish  you  to  do  is 
this.  Write  to  him  a  letter,  implicating  him  in  your  revolu 
tionary  plot.  He  will  be  under  suspicion.  Every  letter  sent 
to  him  will  be  stopped  and  opened  by  the  police." 

"  If  that  is  done,  I  will  warrant  you  quit  of  him ;  at  least 
for  some  years  to  come." 

"  They  will  imprison  him,"  said  Vinal,  nervously,  "  but 
that  will  be  the  whole,  —  his  life  will  be  in  no  danger." 

"  His  life ! "  returned  Speyer,  glancing  sidelong  at  his 
visitor  ;  "  don't  be  troubled  on  that  score.  They  won't  kill 
him." 

"  Then  write  the  letter,"  said  Vinal,  laying  a  rouleau  of 
gold  on  the  table,  "  and  write  it  in  such  a  way  that  it  shall 
spring  the  trap  on  him,  and  keep  him  caged  till  doomsday." 

The  letter  was  written.  Vinal  read  it,  re-read  it,  sealed 
it,  and  with  a  quivering  hand  thrust  it  into  the  post  office. 


CHAPTER   XXXV. 

Thy  hope  is  young,  thy  heart  is  strong,  but  yet  a  day  may  be, 
When  thou  shalt  weep  in  dungeon  deep,  and  none  thy  weeping  see. 

The  Count  of  Saldana. 

MORTON  had  left  Vienna,  and  was  journeying  in  the  dili 
gence  on  the  confines  of  Styria.  The  cumbrous  machine  had 
been  lumbering  on  all  night.  Awaking  at  daybreak  from  his 
comfortless  sleep,  and  looking  through  the  breath-bedimmed 
panes  before  him,  he  saw  the  postilion's  shoulders  wearily 
jolting  up  and  down  with  the  motion  of  the  lazy  horses.  He 
had  one  fellow-traveller  in  the  compartment  which  he  occu 
pied,  a  man  of  thirty-five  or  thereabouts,  who  had  taken  the 
diligence  late  the  evening  before,  and  who  now,  his  shoulders 
supported  by  the  leather  straps  which  hung  for  the  purpose 
from  the  roof,  and  his  head  tumbling  forward  on  his  chest, 
was  dozing  with  a  ludicrously  grim  expression  of  counte 
nance.  At  length  a  sudden  jolt  awakened  him ;  he  started, 
shook  himself,  looked  about  him,  inclined  his  head  by  way 
of  salutation  to  his  fellow-traveller,  and  opened  a  conversa 
tion  with  a  remark  on  the  dullness  of  the  morning.  After 
conversing  for  a  time  in  French,  the  stranger  said  in  excellent 
English,  "  I  see  there  is  no  need  of  our  speaking  French, 
for  by  your  accent  I  judge  that  you  are  English.  I  myself 

(189) 


190  VASSALL    MORTON. 

have  a  little  of  the  English  about  me ;  that  is  to  say,  I  was 
four  years  at  Oxford,  though  I  am  German  by  birth." 

"  I  am  not  English,  though  my  ancestors  were." 

"  You  are  American,  then  ?  "  said  the  stranger,  looking  at 
him  with  some  curiosity ;  and  from  this  beginning,  their 
acquaintance  ripened  fast.  The  German,  regarding  his  com 
panion  as  a  young  man  of  more  intelligence  than  experience, 
conversed  with  an  ease  and  frankness  which  fast  gained  upon 
Morton's  confidence.  He  proved,  indeed,  a  storehouse  of 
information,  discoursing  of  the  people,  the  country,  and  even 
the  government,  with  little  reserve,  and  an  admirable  copi 
ousness  and  minuteness  of  knowledge.  At  length  he  asked 
Morton  if  he  had  any  acquaintance  in  Austria. 

"  None,  excepting  one  or  two  persons  at  Vienna,  to  whom 
I  had  letters." 

"  Then  you  have  probably  made  agreeable  acquaintances. 
The  society  of  Vienna  is  a  very  pleasant  one." 

"  My  letters  were,  or  purported  to  be,  to  savans  and  lit 
erary  men." 

"  There,  too,  you  should  have  found  persons  well  worth 
the  meeting." 

"  I  have  no  doubt  of  it." 

"  You  do  not  speak,"  said  the  investigating  stranger,  with 
a  smile,  "  like  one  who  has  been  much  pleased  with  his  ex 
perience." 

"  I  have  had  no  opportunity  to  judge  fairly  of  the  Vien 
nese  savans" 

"  Your  letters  gave  you  no  opportunity  ? " 


VASSALL    MORTON.  191 

"  They  were  given  me  at  Paris,  in  a  rather  singular  way  ; 
and,  to  say  the  truth,  the  persons  to  whom  they  introduced 
me  were  so  little  to  my  taste,  that  after  delivering  one  or  two 
of  them,  I  determined  not  to  use  the  rest." 

"  You  appear  to  have  been  very  unfortunate.  Will  you 
allow  me  to  ask  to  whom  your  letters  were  addressed  ? " 

"  They  were  written  by  a  person  whom  I  never  saw,  and 
were  given  to  me  by  a  friend,  —  an  acquaintance,  —  of  mine, 
as  a  means  of  gaining-  information  about  the  country ;  such 
information  as  that  for  which  I  am  indebted  to  you.  I  have 
been  a  good  deal  perplexed  as  to  the  character  of  the  persons 
to  whom  they  were  written." 

"  Very  probably  I  could  aid  you." 

Morton  mentioned  the  names  of  the  men  he  had  seen. 

The  German  at  first  looked  puzzled,  then  amazed,  then 
distrustful. 

"  Your  letters  were  got  for  you  by  a  friend  of  yours  ? " 

"  Yes." 

"  And  were  written  by " 

"  A  professor  from  Berlin,  named  Speyer,  —  Henry  Speyer." 

"  Henry  Speyer  !  "  repeated  the  German,  in  astonish 
ment. 

"  You  were  saying  that  you  had  lived  for  some  years  at 
Berlin.  Perhaps  you  can  tell  me  who  and  what  he  is." 

"  I  know  of  no  Professor  Henry  Speyer  at  Berlin." 

"  This  man,  I  am  told,  is  well  known  as  a  philologist." 

"  There  is  a  Henry  Speyer  who  is  a  philologist,  so  far  as 
speaking  every  language  in  Europe  can  make  him  one ;  but 
he  was  never  a  professor  in  Berlin  or  any  where  else." 


192  VASSALL    MOKTON. 

Morton  looked  perplexed.  The  German  studied  his  face 
for  a  moment,  and  then  said,  — 

"  You  say  that  a  friend  of  yours  gave  you  letters  from 
Henry  Speyer  to  the  men  you  just  named  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon !  Have  you  ever  quarrelled  with 
your  friend  ?  Are  you  on  terms  with  your  friend's  mistress  ? 
or  do  you  stand  between  your  friend  and  a  fortune  ?  " 

A  cold  thrill  passed  through  Morton's  frame.  There  was 
an  approach  to  truth  in  both  the  two  last  suppositions. 

"  Either  you  are  very  much  deeper  than  I  know  how  to 
comprehend  you,  or  else  you  are  the  victim  of  a  plot." 

"  What  kind  of  plot  ?  "  demanded  the  startled  Morton  ; 
"  who  is  Speyer,  and  who  are  the  other  men  ?  " 

"  I  will  tell  you.  Speyer  is  an  intriguer,  a  revolutionist, 
a  man  in  every  way  infamous.  As  for  his  being  a  professor, 
he  is  no  more  a  professor  than  he  is  a  prime  minister,  and 
you  may  ascribe  what  motives  you  please  to  your  friend  for 
giving  him  the  name.  He  dares  not  set  foot  in  Austria.  If 
he  did,  it  would  go  very  hard  with  him.  The  other  men  are 
of  the  same  kidney  —  his  aiders,  abetters,  fellow  conspira 
tors  ;  known  or  suspected  to  be  plotting  for  the  overthrow 
of  the  government." 

"  Then  why  are  they  at  liberty  ?  " 

*'  Do  you  call  it  liberty  to  be  day  and  night  under  the  eye 
of  the  police  —  to  be  dogged  and  watched  every  hour  of 
their  lives  ?  They  serve  as  a  sort  of  decoy.  All  who  hold 
communication  with  them  are  noted  down  as  dangerous  ; 


VASSALL    MORTON.  193 

and  my  only  wonder  is,  that  you  have  not  before  this  heard 
from  the  police." 

*'  And  what  would  you  advise  me  to  do  ?  " 

"  Get  out  of  Austria  as  soon  and  as  quietly  as  you  can. 
When  you  have  passed  the  frontier  you  will  be  safe,  and 
not  before." 

17 


CHAPTER   XXXVI. 

Monsieur,  j'ai  deux  mots  a  vous  dire ; 
Messieurs  les  marechaux,  dont  j'ai  commandement, 
Vous  mandent  de  venir  les  trouver  promptement, 
Monsieur. —  Le  Misanthrope. 

THAT  evening  Morton  arrived  at  the  post  house  at 


He  was  alone,  his  companion  of  the  morning,  whose  route 
lay  in  another  direction,  having  left  him  long  before.  At  the 
head  of  the  ancient  staircase,  the  host  welcomed  him  with  a 
"  good  night,"  and  ushered  him  into  a  large,  low,  wooden  room, 
where  some  thirty  men  and  women  were  smoking,  eating, 
and  lounging  among  the  tables  and  benches.  Old  Germans 
talked  over  their  beer  pots,  and  puffed  at  their  pipes  ;  young 
ones  laughed  and  bantered  with  the  servant  girls.  A  French 
man,  en  route  for  Laibach,  gulped  down  his  bowlful  of  soup, 
sprang  to  the  window  when  he  heard  the  postilion's  horn, 
bounded  back  to  finish  his  tumbler  of  "wine,  then  seized  his 
cane,  and  dashed  out  in  hot  haste.  A  small,  prim  student 
strutted  to  the  window  to  watch  him,  pipe  in  hand,  and  an 
amused  grin  on  his  face  ;  then  turned  to  roar  for  more  beer, 
and  joke  with  the  girl  who  brought  it. 

Morton  sat  alone,  incensed,  disturbed,  anxious.  He  had 
resolved  to  go  no  farther  without  taking  measures  to  secure 
his  own  safety ;  and  a  day  or  two,  he  hoped,  would  place 

(194) 


VASSALL    MORTON.  195 

him  out  of  the  reach  of  danger.  Meanwhile,  what  with  his 
horror  at  the  villany  which  had  duped  him,  his  anger  with 
himself  at  being  duped,  and  the  consciousness  that  the  hun 
dred-handed  despotism  of  Austria  might  at  any  moment  close 
its  gripe  upon  him,  the  condition  of  his  mind  was  far  from 
enviable. 

As  he  surveyed  the  noisy  groups  around  him,  three  men 
appeared  at  the  door.  Morton  sipped  his  wine,  and  watched 
them  uneasily  out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye.  One  of  them 
was  a  military  officer ;  another  was  a  tall  man  in  a  civil 
dress  ;  the  third  was  the  conductor  of  the  diligence  in  which 
Morton  had  travelled  all  day.  The  conductor  looked  towards 
him  significantly ;  the  tall  man  inclined  his  head,  as  a  token 
that  he  understood  the  sign.  Then  approaching,  hat  in  hand, 
he  said  very  courteously,  in  French,  — 

"  Pardon,  monsieur ;  I  regret  that  I  must  give  you  some 
little  trouble.  I  have  a  carriage  below ;  will  you  have  the 
goodness  to  accept  a  seat  in  it  ?  " 

"  To  go  whither  ?  "  demanded  Morton,  in  alarm. 

"  To  the  office  of  police,  monsieur." 

The  Austrian  Briareus  had  clutched  him  at  last. 


CHAPTER    XXXVII. 

Are  you  called  forth,  from  out  a  world  of  men, 
To  slay  the  innocent  ?    What  is  my  offence  ? 
Where  is  the  evidence  that  doth  accuse  me  ? 
What  lawful  quest  have  given  their  verdict  up 
Unto  the  frowning  judge  ?  —  Richard  HI. 

"  Yotr  have  trifled  long  enough,"  said  the  commissioner ; 
"  declare  what  you  know,  or  you  shall  be  dealt  with  sum 
marily." 

A  long  journey,  manacled  like  a  felon,  and  guarded  by 
dragoons  with  loaded  carbines ;  a  rigorous  imprisonment, 
already  five  months  protracted  ;  repeated  examinations  before 
a  military  tribunal ;  cross-questionings,  threats,  and  insults, 
to  extort  his  supposed  secrets  ;  —  all  these  had  formed  a 
sharp  transition  from  the  halcyon  days  of  Vassall  Morton's 
prosperity. 

"  Declare  what  you  know,  or  you  shall  be  dealt  with 
summarily." 

"  I  know  nothing,  and  therefore  can  declare  nothing." 

"  You  have  held  that  tone  long  enough.  Do  you  imagine 
that  we  are  to  be  deceived  by  your  inventions  ?  Tell  what 
you  know,  or  in  twenty  minutes  you  will  be  led  to  the 
rampart  and  shot." 

"  I  am  in  your  power,  and  you  can  do  what  you  will." 

(196) 


VASSALL    MOETON.  197 

The  commissioner  spoke  in  German  to  the  corporal  of  the 
guard,  who  took  Morton  into  custody,  and  was  leading  him 
from  the  room. 

"  Stop,"  cried  the  official,  from  his  seat. 

Morton  turned. 

"  You  are  destroying  yourself,  young  man." 

"  It  is  false.     You  are  murdering  me." 

"  Do  not  answer  me.  I  tell  you,  you  are  murdering  your 
self.  Are  you  the  fool  to  fling  away  your  life  in  a  fit  of 
obstinacy  ?  " 

"  Are  you  the  villain  to  shoot  innocent  men  in  cold  blood  ? " 

The  commissioner  swore  a  savage  oath,  and  with  an  angry 
gesture  sent  the  corporal  from  the  room. 

The  corporal  led  his  prisoner  along  the  corridor,  which  had 
grown  ruefully  familiar  to  Morton's  eye ;  but  instead  of 
following  the  way  which  led  to  the  latter 's  cell,  he  turned 
into  a  much  wider  and  more  commodious  passage.  Here,  at 
his  open  door,  stood  Padre  Luca,  confessing  priest  of  the 
castle. 

Padre  Luca  had  mistaken  his  calling,  when  he  took  it  upon 
him  to  discharge  such  a  function.  He  was  too  tender  of 
heart,  too  soft  of  nature  ;  ill  seasoned,  moreover,  to  his  work, 
for  he  had  been  but  a  week  in  the  fortress,  and  this  was  the 
first  victim  whom  it  behooved  him  to  prepare  for  death.  And 
when  he  saw  the  young  prisoner,  and  learned  the  instant 
doom  under  which  he  stood,  his  nerves  grew  tremulous,  and 
he  found  no  words  to  usher  in  his  ghostly  counsels. 

Corporal  Max  Kubitski,  with  a  face  unperturbed  as  a  block, 
unfettered  Morton's  wrists,  left  him  with  the  confessor,  and 
17* 


198  VASSALL    MOETON. 

withdrew,  placing  a  soldier  on  guard  at  the  door  without. 
Morton  sat  silent  and  calm.  The  hand  of  Padre  Luca 
quivered  with  agitation. 

*'  My  son,"  he  began  ;  and  here  his  voice  faltered. 

"  I  trust,"  he  said,  finding  his  tongue  again,  "  that  you  are 
a  faithful  child  of  our  holy  mother,  the  church,  and  that  the 
heresies  and  infidelities  of  these  times " 

"  Father,"  said  Morton,  willingly  adopting  the  filial  ad 
dress  to  the  kind-hearted  priest,  "  I  am  a  Protestant.  I  was 
born  and  bred  among  Protestants.  I  respect  your  ancient 
church  for  the  good  she  has  done  in  ages  past,  and  for  the 
good  men  who  have  held  her  faith ;  but  I  do  not  believe  her 
doctrine,  nor  approve  her  practice." 

The  priest's  face  betrayed  his  discomposure. 

"  My  son,  my  dear  son,  it  is  not  too  late  ;  it  is  never  too 
late.  Listen  to  the  truth ;  renounce  your  fatal  errors.  I 
will  baptize  you ;  and  when  you  are  gone,  I  will  pray  our 
great  saint  of  Milan  to  intercede  for  you,  and  I  will  say 
masses  for  your  soul." 

Morton  smiled  faintly,  and  shook  his  head. 

"  I  thank  you  ;  but  it  is  too  late  for  conversion.  I  must 
die  in  my  heresy,  as  I  have  lived." 

"So  young!"  exclaimed  Padre  Luca;  "and  so  calm  on 
the  brink  of  eternity !  Ah,  it  is  hard  to  die,  when  so  much 
is  left  to  enjoy  ;  but  it  is  worse  to  plunge  from  present 
suffering  into  everlasting  despair."  And  he  proceeded  to 
give  a  most  graphic  picture  of  post-mortal  torment's,  drawn 
from  the  Spiritual  Exercises  of  Saint  Ignatius,  a  work  very 
iamiliar  to  his  meditations.  This  dire  imagery  failed  to 
convince  the  dying  heretic. 


VASSALL    MORTON.  199 

"  My  mind  is  made  up.  I  cannot  believe  your  doctrine, 
but  I  can  feel  your  kindness.  You  have  spoken  the  first 
friendly  words  that  I  have  heard  for  months." 

"  It  is  hard  that  you  should  die  so  unprepared,  and  so 
young.  You  have  relatives  ?  You  have  friends  ?  " 

"  More  than  friends  !  More  than  friends  !  "  groaned  Mor 
ton.  And  as  a  flood  of  recollection  swept  over  him,  his 
heart  for  a  moment  was  sick  with  anguish. 

"  Come  with  me,"  whispered  Padre  Luca.  He  led  the 
way  into  the  chapel  of  the  castle,  which  adjoined  his  room. 
Here  he  bowed  and  crossed  himself  before  an  altar,  over 
which  was  displayed  a  painting  of  the  Virgin. 

"  Our  Blessed  Mother  is  full  of  love,  full  of  mercy.  See, 
—  hang  this  round  your  neck  "  — placing  in  his  hand  a  small 
medal  on  which  her  image  was  stamped.  "  Go  and  kneel 
before  that  altar,  and  repeat  these  words,"  pointing  to  the 
Ave  Maria  in  a  little  book  of  devotion.  "  Call  on  her  with  a 
true  heart,  and  she  will  have  pity.  She  cannot  see  you 
perish,  body  and  soul.  She  will  appear,  and  teach  you  the 
truth." 

There  was  so  much  of  earnestness  and  sincerity  in  his 
words,  that  Morton  felt  nothing  but  gratitude  as  he  an 
swered,  — 

"  It  would  be  no  better  than  a  mockery,  if  I  should  do  as 
you  wish.  I  cannot " 

Here  a  clear,  deep  voice  from  the  adjacent  room  interrupted 
him. 

"  Mother  of  heaven !  "  cried  Padre  Luca,  greatly  agitated. 

"  I  am  ready,"  answered  Morton,  in  a  voice  firm  as  that 
which  summoned  him. 


200  VASSALL    MORTON. 

He  returned  to  the  priest's  apartment,  and  in  the  doorway 
stood  the  athletic  corporal,  like  the  statue  of  a  modern 
Mars. 

"  Mio  figlio  !  Mio  caro  figlio  !  "  faltered  Padre  Luca, 
laying  a  tremulous  hand  on  the  young  man's  shoulder.  The 
kindly  accents  of  the  melodious  Italian  fell  on  his  ear  like  a 
strain  of  music. 

"  You  must  not  die  now  ;  you  are  not  prepared.  I  will  go 
to  the  commissioner.  He  will  grant  time." 

He  was  pushing  past  the  corporal,  when  Morton  gently 
checked  him. 

"  I  thank  you,  father,  a  thousand  times  ;  but  if  I  must  die, 
there  is  no  mercy  in  a  half  hour's  delay.  Let  me  go.  This 
sentence  may  be,  after  all,  a  kindness." 

The  corporal  took  him  into  custody ;  and,  with  three  sol 
diers  before  and  three  behind,  he  moved  towards  his  place  of 
execution.  He  seemed  to  himself  like  one  not  fully  awake ; 
the  stern  reality  would  not  come  home  to  his  thoughts,  until, 
as  he  was  mounting  a*  flight  of  steps  leading  to  the  rampart, 
a  vivid  remembrance  glowed  upon  him  of  that  summer  even 
ing  when,  in  her  father's  garden,  Edith  Leslie  had  accepted 
his  love.  It  was  with  a  desperate  effort  of  pride  and  resolu 
tion  that  he  quelled  the  emotion  which  rose  choking  to  his 
throat,  and  murmuring  a  petition  for  her  safety,  walked 
forward  with  an  unchanged  face. 

A  light  shone  in  upon  the  passage,  and  they  stood  in  a 
moment  upon  the  rampart,  whence  a  panorama  of  sunny 
mountains  opened  on  the  view.  It  was  a  space  of  some 
extent,  paved  with  flag-stones,  a*id  compassed  with  battle- 


VASSALL    MORTON.  201 

ments  and  walls.  On  one  side  stood,  leaning  on  their  mus 
kets,  a  file  of  Bohemian  soldiers,  in  their  close  frogged  uni 
forms  and  long  mustaches.  These,  with  their  officer,  Cor 
poral  Kubitski,  with  his  six  men,  a  sub-official  acting  for  the 
commissioner,  and  Padre  Luca,  were  the  only  persons  present, 
besides  the  prisoner.  The  latter  was  placed  before  the  Bo 
hemians,  at  the  distance  of  twelve  or  fourteen  paces.  The 
corporal  and  his  men  drew  aside. 

"  Now,"  demanded  the  deputy,  "  will  you  confess  what  you 
know,  or  will  you  die  ?  " 

"  I  have  told  you,  once  and  again,  that  I  have  nothing  to 
confess." 

"  Then  take  the  consequence  of  your  obstinacy." 

He  motioned  to  the  officer.  A  word  of  command  was 
given.  Each  soldier  loaded  with  ball,  and  the  ramrods  rat 
tled  as  they  sent  home  the  charge.  Another  command,  and 
the  cocked  muskets  rose  to  the  level,  concentrating  their  aim 
against  the  prisoner's  breast. 

"  If  you  will  speak,  speak  now.  You  have  a  quarter  of  a 
minute  to  save  yourself."  And  the  deputy  took  out  his 
watch. 

Morton  turned  his  head  slowly,  and  looked  at  him  for  an 
instant  in  silence. 

"  Speak,  speak,"  cried  Padre  Luca,  pressing  towards  him ; 
"  tell  him  what  you  know." 

The  sharp  voice  of  the  officer  warned  him  back. 

Morton  stood  with  compressed  lips,  and  every  nerve  at  its 
tension,  in  instant  expectation  of  the  volley;  already,  in 
fancy,  he  felt  the  bullets  plunging  through  his  breast ;  but 


202  VASSALL    MORTON. 

not  a  muscle  flinched,  and  he  fronted  the  deadly  muzzles  with 
an  unblenching  eye.  The  deputy  scrutinized  his  face,  and 
turned  away,  muttering.  At  that  moment  a  man,  who 
through  the  whole  scene  had  stood  hidden  in  the  entrance  of 
a  passage,  ran  out  Avith  a  pretence  of  great  haste  and  earnest 
ness,  and  called  to  stop  the  execution,  since  the  commissioner 
had  granted  a  reprieve.  In  fact,  the  whole  affair  was  a  sham, 
played  off  upon  the  prisoner  to  terrify  him  into  confession. 

The  Bohemians  recovered  their  muskets,  and  the  bewil 
dered  Morton  was  once  more  in  custody  of  the  corporal,  who 
led  him,  guarded  as  before,  back  towards  his  cell.  Padre 
Luca,  who  thought  that  an  interposition  of  the  Virgin  had 
softened  the  commissioner's  heart,  hastened  to  his  oratory  to 
pray  for  the  heretic's  conversion.  Faint  and  heartsick,  Mor 
ton  scarcely  knew  what  was  passing,  till  he  was  thrust  in  at 
his  narrow  door.  The  jailer  was  there,  but  the  corporal  en 
tered  als.o,  to  aid  in  taking  the  handcuffs  from  his  wrists. 

One  might  have  looked  in  vain  among  ten  thousand  to  find 
a  nobler  model  of  masculine  proportion  than  this  soldier. 
He  stood  more  than  six  feet  high,  and  Morton,  who  loved  to 
look  upon  a  man,  had  often,  even  in  his  distress,  admired  his 
martial  bearing  and  the  powerful  symmetry  of  his  frame. 
His  face,  too,  was  singularly  fine  in  its  way,  and  though  the 
discipline  of  long  habit  usually  banished  from  it  any  distinct 
expression,  yet  the  cast  of  the  features,  and  the  manly  curve 
of  the  lip,  which  the  thick  brown  mustache  could  not  wholly 
hide,  seemed  to  augur  a  brave,  generous,  and  loyal  nature. 

More  stupefied  than  cheered  at  being  snatched,  as  he  sup 
posed,  from  the  jaws  of  death,  Morton  stood  passive  while  his 


VASSALL    MORTON.  203 

hands  were  released.     The  jailer  left  him  for  a  moment,  and 

crossed  over  to  the  opposite  corner  of  the  cell.     His  back  was 

turned  as  he  did  so.     The  corporal's  six  soldiers  were  all  in 

the  passage  without.     At  that  instant,  Morton  felt  a  warm 

breath  at  his  ear,  and  heard  whispered  in  a  barbarous  accent,  — 

"  Courage,  mon  ami  !    Vive  la  lilerte  !   Vive  TAmerique  !  " 

He  turned ;  but  the  martial  visage  of  the  corporal  was 

unmoved  as  bronze  ;  and,  in  a  moment  more,  the  iron  door 

clanged  behind  him  as  he  disappeared. 


CHAPTEK   XXXVIII. 


0  Death,  why  now  so  slow  art  thou  ?  why  fearest  thou  to  smite  ? 

Lamentatwn  of  Don  Roderick. 

When  all  the  blandishments  of  life  are  gone, 

The  coward  sneaks  to  death,  the  brave  live  on.  —  Sewett. 


THE  whispered  words  of  the  corporal  kindled  a  spark  of 
hope  in  Morton's  breast ;  but  it  was  destined  to  fade  and  die. 
Once  he  was  sure  that  he  heard  the  tones  of  his  voice  in  the 
passage  without  his  cell ;  but  weeks  passed,  months  passed, 
and  he  did  not  see  him  again. 

And  now  let  the  curtain  drop  for  a  space  of  three  years. 

Morton  was  still  a  prisoner.  Despair  was  at  hand.  He 
longed  to  die.  His  longing  at  length  seemed  near  its  accom 
plishment.  A  raging  fever  seized  him,  and  for  days  he  lay 
delirious,  balanced  on  the  brink  of  death.  But  his  constitu 
tion  endured  the  shock ;  and  late  one  night  he  lay  on  his 
pallet,  exhausted,  worn  to  a  skeleton,  yet  fully  conscious  of 
his  situation. 

The  locks  clashed,  the  hinges  jarred,  and  a  physician  of  the 
prison,  a  bulky  German,  stood  at  his  side. 

He  felt  his  patient's  pulse. 

"  Shall  I  die,  or  not  ?  "  demanded  the  sick  man. 

"  Die  !  "  echoed  the  German,  a  laugh  gurgling  within  him, 

(204) 


YASSALL    MORTON.  205 

like  the  first  symptom  of  an  earthquake ;  "all  men  die,  but 
this  sickness  will  never  kill  you.  It  would  have  killed 
ninety-nine  out  of  a  hundred ;  but  you  are  as  tough  as  a  rhi 
noceros." 

Morton  turned  to  the  wall,  and  cursed  the  hour  when  he 
was  born. 

The  German  gave  a  prescription  to  his  attendant;  the 
locks  clashed  again  behind  him,  and  Morton  was  left  alone 
with  his  misery. 

The  lamp  in  the  passage  without  shone  through  the  grated 
opening  above  the  door,  and  shed  a  square  of  yellow  light  on 
the  black,  damp  stones  of  the  dungeon.  They  sweated  and 
trickled  with  a  clammy  moisture ;  and  the  brick  pavement 
was  wet,  as  if  the  clouds  had  rained  upon  it.  Morton  lay 
motionless  as  a  dead  man.  The  crisis  of  his  disorder  was 
past ;  but  its  effects  were  heavy  upon  him,  and  his  mind 
shared  the  deep  exhaustion  of  his  body.  Perilous  thoughts 
rose  upon  him,  spectral  and  hollow-eyed. 

"  By  what  right  am  I  doomed  to  this  protracted  misery  ? 
By  what  justice,  when  a  refuge  is  at  hanfi,  am  I  forbidden  to 
fly  to  it  ?  I  have  only  to  drag  myself  from  this  bed,  and  rest 
for  a  few  moments  on  those  wet,  cold  bricks,  and  all  the  med 
icines  in  Austria  could  not  keep  me  many  days  a  prisoner. 
And  who  could  blame  me  ?  Who  could  say  that  I  destroyed 
myself?  It  is  not  suicide.  It  is  but  aiding  kindly  nature  to 
do  a  deed  of  mercy." 

He  repelled  the  thought ;  but  it  returned.  He  repelled  it 
again,  but  still  it  returned.  The  insidious  demon  was  again 
and  again  at  his  ear,  stealing  back  with  a  noiseless  gliding, 
18 


206  VASSALL    MORTON. 

smoothly  commending  her  poison  to  his  lips,  soothing  his 
worn  spirit  as  the  vampire  fans  its  slumbering  victim  with 
its  wings.  But  his  better  nature,  not  without  a  higher 
appeal,  fortified  itself  against  her,  and  struggled  to  hold  its 
ground. 

When  the  French  besieged  Saragossa ;  when  her  walls 
crumbled  before  their  batteries ;  when,  day  by  day,  through 
secret  mine  or  open  assault,  foot  by  foot,  they  won  their  way 
inward  towards  her  heart ;  when  treason  within  aided  force 
without,  and  famine  and  pestilence  leagued  against  her,  — 
still  her  undespairing  children  refused  to  yield.  Sick  men 
dragged  themselves  to  the  barricades,  women  and  boys 
pointed  the  cannon,  and  her  heroic  banner  still  floated  above 
the  wreck. 

Thus,  spent  with  disease,  gnawed  with  pertinacious  mis 
eries,  assailed  by  black  memories  of  the  past,  and  blacker 
forebodings,  of  the  future,  did  Morton  maintain  his  weary 
battle  with  despair. 


CHAPTER,    XXXIX. 


Who  would  lose, 

Though  full  of  pain,  this  intellectual  being, 
These  thoughts  that  wander  through  eternity? 

To  be  weak  is  miserable, 

Doing  or  suffering.  —  Paradise  Lost. 


MORTON  recovered  slowly.  The  influences  about  him  were 
any -thing  but  favorable  to  a  quick  convalescence,  and  it  was 
months  before  he  was  himself  again.  Even  then,  though  his 
health  seemed  confirmed,  a  deeper  cloud  remained  upon  his 
spirits  :  his  dungeon  seemed  more  dark  and  gloomy,  his 
prospects  more  desperate. 

One  day  he  paced  his  cell  in  a  mood  of  more  than  usual 
depression. 

"  Fools  and  knaves  are  at  large ;  robbery  and  murder  have 
full  scope ;  vanity  and  profligacy  run  their  free  career ;  then 
why  is  honest  effort  paralyzed,  and  buried  here  alive  ?  There 
arc  those  in  these  vaults,  —  men  innocent  of  crime  as  I,  — 
men  who  would  have  been  an  honor  to  their  race,  —  who 
have  passed  a  score  of  years  in  this  living  death.  And  cant 
ing  fools  would  console  them  with  saying  that  '  all  is  for  the 
best.'  I  will  sooner  believe  that  the  world  is  governed  by 
devils,  and  that  the  prince  of  them  all  is  bodied  in  Metter- 
nich.  Why  is  there  not  in  crushed  hope,  and  stifled  wrath, 

(207) 


208  VASSALL    MORTON. 

and  swelling  anguish,  and  frenzy,  and  despair,  a  force  to  burst 
these  hellish  sepulchres,  and  blow  them  to  the  moon  ! 

"  It  is  but  a  weak  punishment  to  which  Milton  dooms  his 
ruined  angel.  Action,  —  enterprise,  —  achievement,  —  a  hell 
like  that  is  heaven  to  the  cells  of  Ehrenberg.  He  should  have 
chained  him  to  a  rock,  and  left  him  alone  to  the  torture  of 
his  own  thoughts  ;  the  unutterable  agonies  of  a  mind  prey 
ing  on  itself  for  want  of  other  sustenance.  Action  !  —  mured 
in  this  dungeon,  the  starved  soul  gasps  for  it  as  the  lungs  for 
air.  '  Action,  action,  action  !  —  all  in  all !  What  is  life 
without  it  ?  A  marsh,  a  quagmire,  a  rotten,  stagnant  pool. 
It  is  its  own  reward.  The  chase  is  all ;  the  prize  nothing. 
The  huntsmen  chase  the  fox  all  day,  and,  when  they  have 
caught  her,  fling  her  to  their  hounds  for  a  worthless  vermin. 
Alexander  wept  that  he  had  no  more  worlds  to  conquer.  What 
did  it  profit  him  that  a  conquered  world  lay  already  at  his  feet  ? 
The  errant  knights  who  roamed  the  world  with  their  mis 
tress's  glove  on  their  helmet,  achieving  impossibilities  in  her 
name,  —  which  of  them  could  have  endured  to  live  in  peace 
with  her  for  a  six-month  ?  The  crusader  master  of  Jerusa 
lem,  Cortes  with  Mexico  subdued,  any  hero  when  his  work 
is  done,  falls  back  to  the  ranks  of  common  men.  His  lamp 
is  out,  his  fire  quenched  ;  and  what  avails  the  stale,  lack 
lustre  remnant  of  his  days  ? 

"  Action  !  the  panacea  of  human  ills  ;  the  sure  resource  of 
misery  ;  the  refuge  of  bad  consciences  ;  a  maelstroom,  in 
whose  giddy  vortex  saints  and  villains  may  whirl  alike. 
How  like  a  madman  some  great  criminal,  some  Macbeth,  will 
plunge  on  through  his  slough  of  blood  and  treachery,  frantic 


VASSALL    MORTON.  209 

to  dam  out  justice  at  every  chink,  and  bulwark  himself  against 
fate  ;  clinching  crime  with  crime ;  giving  conscience  no  time 
to  stab  ;  finding  no  rest ;  but  still  plunging  on,  desperate 
and  blind  !  How  like  a  madman  some  pious  anchorite,  fervent 
to  win  heaven,  will  pile  torture  on  torture,  fast,  and  vigil, 
and  scourge,  made  wretched  daily  with  some  fresh  scruple, 
delving  to  find  some  new  depth  of  self-abasement,  and  still 
struggling  on  unsatisfied,  insatiable  of  penance,  till  the 
grave  devours  him  !  Human  activity  !  —  to  pursue  a  security 
which  is  never  reached,  a  contentment  which  eludes  the 
grasp,  some  golden  consummation  which  proves  but  hollow 
mockery ;  to  seize  the  prize,  to  taste  it,  to  fling  it  away,  and 
reach  after  another  !  This  cell,  where  I  thought  myself  buried 
and  sealed  up  from  knowledge,  is,  after  all,  a  school  of  philos 
ophy.  It  teaches  a  dreary  wisdom  of  its  own.  Through 
these  stone  walls  I  can  see  the  follies  of  the  world  more 
clearly  than  when  I  was  in  the  midst,  of  them.  A  dreary 
wisdom  ;  and  yet  not  wholly  dreary.  There  is  a  power  and  a 
consolation  in  it.  Misery  is  the  mind-maker ;  the  revealer  of 
truth  ;  the  spring  of  nobleness ;  the  test,  the  purger,  the 
strengthener  of  the  spirit.  Our  natures  are  like  grapes  in  the 
wine  press :  they  must  be  pressed  to  the  uttermost  before 
they  will  give  forth  all  their  virtue. 

"  Why  do  I  delude  myself?  What  good  can  be  wrung  out 
of  a  misery  like  mine  ?  It  is  folly  to  cheat  myself  with  hope. 
This  hell-begotten  Austria  has  me  fast,  and  will  not  loosen 
her  gripe.  Abroad  in  the  free  world,  fortitude  will  count 
for  much.  There,  one  can  hold  firm  the  clefts  and  cracks 
of  his  tottering  fortunes  with  the  cement  of  an  unyield- 
18* 


210  VASSALL    MORTON. 

ing  mind ;  but  here,  it  is  but  bare  and  blank  endurance. 
Yet  it  is  something  that  I  can  still  find  heart  to  face  my 
doom  ;  that  there  are  still  moments  when  I  dare  to  meet  this 
death-in-life,  this  slow-consuming  horror,  face  to  face,  and 
look  into  all  its  hideousness  without  shrinking.  To  creep  on 
to  my  end  through  years  of  slow  decay,  mind  and  soul  fam 
ishing  in  solitude,  sapped  and  worn,  eaten  and  fretted  away, 
by  the  droppings  of  lonely  thought,  till  I  find  my  rest  at  last 
under  these  cursed  stones  .l  God  !  could  I  but  die  the  death 
of  a  man  !  De  Foix,  —  Dundee,  —  Wolfe.  I  grudge  them 
their  bloody  end.  When  the  fierce  blood  boiled  highest, 
when  the  keen  life  was  tingling  through  their  veins,  and  the 
shout  of  victory  ringing  in  their  ears,  then  to  be  launched  at 
a  breath  forth  into  the  wilderness  of  space,  to  sail  through 
eternity,  to  explore  the  seas  and  continents  of  the  vast  un 
known  !  But  I,  —  I  must  lie  here  and  rot.  You  fool !  you 
are  tied  to  the  stake,  and  must  bide  the  baiting  as  you  can. 
Will  you  play  the  coward  ?  What  can  you  gain  by  that  ? 
You  cannot  run  away.  What  wretch,  when  misery  falls  upon 
him,  will  not  cry  out,  '  Take  any  shape  but  that  ? '  In  the 
familiar  crowd,  in  the  daily  resort,  how  many  an  unregarded 
face  masks  a  wretchedness  worse  than  this  !  some  shrunken, 
cankered  soul,  palsied  and  world-weary,  more  hopelessly 
dungeoned  than  you.  Crush  down  your  anguish,  choke 
down  your  groan,  and  say,  « Heaven's  will  be  done.' 

"  Muster  what  courage  you  may.  Not  those  spasms  of 
valor  that  make  the  hero  of  an  emergency,  and  when  the 
heart  is  on  fire  and  the  soul  in  arms,  bear  him  on  to  great 
achievement.  Mine  must  be  an  inward  flame,  that  warms 


VASSALL    MORTON.  211 

though  it  cannot  shine  ;  a  fire,  like  the  sacred  Chaldean  fire, 
that  must  never  go  out ;  a  perpetual  spring,  flowing  up  with 
out  ceasing,  to  meet  the  unceasing  need. 

"And  you,  source  of  my  deepest  joy  and  my  deepest  sor 
row,  —  do  not  fail  me  now.  Come  to  me  in  this  darkness  ; 
let  your  spirit  haunt  this  tomb  where  I  lie  buried.  In  your 
presence,  the  evil  of  my  heart  shrank  back,  rebuked  ;  its  good 
sprang  up  and  grew  in  life  and  freshness.  You  rose  upon  me 
like  the  sun,  warming  every  noble  germ  into  leaf  and  flower. 
You  streamed  into  my  soul,  banishing  its  mists,  and  glad 
dening  it  to  its  depths  with  summer  light.  These  are  no 
girl's  tears.  Towards  myself  and  my  own  woes,  I  have 
hardened  my  heart  like  the  barren  flint.  I  should  be  less 
than  man  if  I  did  not  weep  when  I  think  of  you.  You  must 
pass  the  appointed  lot ;  you  must  fade  with  time  and  sorrow  ; 
but  to  me  you  will  be  radiant  still  with  youth  and  beauty. 
So  will  I  bide  my  hour,  anchored  on  that  pure  and  lofty 
memory,  waiting  that  last  release  when  the  winged  spirit 
shall  laugh  at  bolts  and  dungeon  bars." 


CHAPTEK   XL. 

Lost  liberty  and  love  at  once  he  bore ; 

His  prison  pained  him  much,  his  passion  more.  —  Palemon  and  Arctic. 

SINCE  his  illness,  Morton  had  had  some  of  an  invalid's 
privilege.  He  had  been  allowed  to  walk  on  the  rampart  for 
half  an  hour  daily.  In  the  distance,  a  great  mountain  range 
bounded  the  view,  and,  nearer,  the  Croatian  forest  stretched 
its  dark  and  wild  frontier.  The  scene  recalled  kindred  scenes 
at  home  ;  and  when  he  was  led  back  to  his  cell,  when  the 
heavy  door  clashed  and  the  bolts  grated  upon  him,  he  leaned 
his  forehead  on  his  hand,  and  stood  in  fancy  again  among  the 
mountains  of  New  England,  with  all  their  associations  of 
health,  freedom,  and  golden  hopes.  The  White  Mountains 
seemed  to  rise  around  him  like  a  living  presence,  rugged  with 
their  rocks  and  pines,  scarred  with  avalanches,  cinctured  with 
morning  mists  ;  and,  standing  again  on  the  bank  of  the  Saco, 
he  seemed  to  feel  their  breezes  and  hear  the  brawling  of  their 
waters.  Then  his  roused  fancy  took  a  wider  range  ;  carried 
him  across  the  Alleghanies  and  along  the  Ohio,  up  the  Mis 
sissippi  to  its  source,  and  downward  to  the  sea,  picturing  the 
whole  like  the  shifting  scene  of  a  panorama. 

"  Ah,"  he  thought,  "  if  my  story  could  be  blown  abroad 
over  those  western  waters  !  How  long  then  should  I  lie  here 

(212) 


VASSALL    MORTON.  213 

dying  by  inches  ?  The  farmers  of  Ohio,  the  planters  of  Ten 
nessee,  the  backwoodsmen  of  Missouri,  how  would  they  endure 
such  outrage  to  the  meanest  member  of  their  haughty  sov 
ereignty  !  A  hopeless  dream  !  I  have  looked  my  last  on 
America.  My  wrongs  will  find  no  voice.  They  and  I  are 
smothering  together,  safely  walled  up  in  sound  and  solid 
mason-work.  Strange,  the  power  of  fancy  !  Heaven  knows 
how  or  why,  but  at  this  moment  I  could  believe  myself  seated 
on  the  edge  of  the  lake  at  Matherton,  under  the  beech  trees, 
on  a  hot  July  noon.  The  leaves  will  not  rustle ;  the  birds 
will  not  sing  ;  nothing  seems  awake  but  the  small  yellow 
butterflies,  flickering  over  the  clover  tops,  and  the  heat-loving 
cicala,  raising  his  shrill  voice  from  the  dead  pear  tree.  The 
breathless  pines  on  the  farther  bank  grow  downward  in  the 
glassy  mirror.  The  water  lies  at  my  feet,  pellucid  as  the  air ; 
the  dace,  the  bream,  and  the  perch  glide  through  it  like  spirits, 
their  shadows  following  them  over  the  quartz  pebbles  ;  and, 
in  the  cove  hard  by,  the  pirate  pickerel  lies  asleep  under  the 
water  lilies. 

"  On  such  a  day,  I  came  down  the  garden  walk,  and  found 
Edith  reading  under  the  shade  of  the  maple  grove.  On  the 
evening  of  such  a  day,  I  heard  from  her  lips  the  words  which 
seemed  to  launch  me  upon  a  life  of  more  than  human  happi 
ness.  Could  I  have  looked  into  the  future  !  Could  I  have 
lifted  the  glowing  curtain  which  my  fancy  drew  before  it,  the 
gay  and  gilded  illusion  which  covered  the  hideous  truth ! 
Where  is  she  now  ?  Does  she  still  walk  in  the  garden,  and 
read  under  the  grove  of  maples  ?  She  thinks  me  dead : 
almost  four  years !  She  has  good  cause  to  think  so ;  and 


214  VASSALL   MOKTON. 

perhaps  at  this  moment  some  glib-tongued  suitor,  as  earnest 
and  eager  as  I  was,  is  whispering  persuasion  into  her  ear, 
winning  her  to  his  hearth  stone  and  his  arms.  Powers  of 
hell,  if  you  would  rack  man's  soul  with  torments  like  your 
own,  show  him  first  a  gleam  of  heaven  ;  bathe  him  in  celestial 
light ;  then  thrust  him  down  to  a  damnation  like  this." 

And  he  groaned  between  his  set  teeth,  in  the  extremity  of 
mental  torture. 


CHAPTER    XLI. 


The  manly  heart  must  sometimes  cease  to  languish, 
Ruled  by  the  manly  brain.  —  Bayard  Taylor. 


day  the  jailer  came  in  at  his  stated  hour.  He  was, 
by  birth,  a  German  peasant,  stupid  and  brutish  enough  ;  but, 
his  calling  considered,  he  might  have  been  worse,  and,  in  the 
lack  of  better  company,  Morton  had  diligently  cultivated  his 
acquaintance.  On  this  occasion  he  was  more  than  commonly 
dogged  and  impenetrable  ;  and,  on  being  taken  to  task  for 
some  neglect  or  malperformance  of  his  functions,  he  made  no 
manner  of  reply,  by  word,  look,  or  gesture.  Being  again 
upbraided,  he  turned  for  a  moment  towards  the  prisoner  a 
face  as  expressive  as  a  block  of  pudding  stone,  and  then 
sullenly  continued  his  work  as  before.  Morton  laughed, 
partly  in  vexation,  and  resumed  his  walk,  of  just  three  paces, 
to  and  fro,  the  length  of  his  cell.  He  followed  the  jailer 
with  his  eye,  as  the  latter  closed  the  door. 

"  '  God  made  him,  and  therefore  let  him  pass  for  a  man.' 
Measure  the  distance  from  Shakspeare  down  to  that  fellow, 
and  then  from  him  again  down  to  a  baboon,  and  which  meas 
urement  would  be  the  longer  ?  It  would  be  a  knotty  problem 
to  settle  the  question  of  kindred  ;  and  yet,  after  all,  a  soul 
to  be  saved,  such  as  it  is,  and  an  indefinite  power  of  expan- 

(215) 


216  VASSALL    MOKTON. 

sion  and  refining,  give  Jacob  strong  odds  against  the  baboon. 
He  has  human  possibilities,  like  the  rest  of  us  ;  his  unit  goes 
to  make  up  the  sum  of  man  ;  man,  the  riddle  and  marvel  of 
the  universe,  the  centre  of  interest,  the  centre  of  wonder. 
When  I  was  a  boy,  I  pleased  myself  with  planning  that  I 
would  study  out  the  springs  of  human  action,  and  trace  human 
emotion  up  to  its  sources.  It  was  a  boy's  idea,  —  to  fathom 
the  unfathomable,  to  line  and  map  out  the  shifting  clouds  and 
the  ever-moving  winds.  De  Stael  speaks  the  truth  — '  Man 
may  learn  to  rule  man,  but  only  God  can  comprehend  him.' 
View  him  under  one  aspect  only.  Seek  to  analyze  that  per 
vading  passion,  that  mighty  mystic  influence  which,  conscious 
ly  or  unconsciously,  directly  or  indirectly,  prevails  in  human 
action,  and  holds  the  sovereignty  of  the  world.  It  is  a  vain 
attempt ;  the  reason  loses  and  confounds  itself.  What  human 
faculty  can  follow  the  workings  of  a  principle  which  at  once 
exalts  man  to  the  stars,  and  fetters  him  to  the  earth  ;  which 
can  fire  him  with  triumphant  energies,  or  lull  him  into  effem 
inate  repose  ;  kindle  strange  aspirations  and  eager  longings 
after  knowledge  ;  spur  the  intellect  to  range  time  and  space, 
or  cramp  it  within  narrow  confines,  among  mean  fancies  and 
base  associations  ?  In  its  mysterious  contradictions,  its  bound 
less  possibilities  of  good  and  ill,  it  is  a  type  of  human  nature 
itself.  The  soldier  saint,  Loyola,  was  right  when  he  figured 
the  conflicts  of  man's  spirit  by  the  collision  of  two  armies, 
ranked  under  adverse  banners  ;  for  what  is  the  spirit  of  man 
but  a  field  of  war,  with  its  marches  and  retreats,  its  ambus 
cades,  stratagems,  surprises,  skirmishings,  and  weary  life 
long  sieges  ;  its  shock  of  onset,  and  death-grapple,  throat  to 


VASSALL    MORTON.  217 

throat  ?  And  whoever  would  be  wise,  or  safe,  must  sentinel 
his  thoughts,  and  rule  his  mind  by  martial  law,  like  a  city 
beleaguered. 

"  How  to  escape  such  strife  !  There  is  no  escape.  It  has 
followed  hermits  to  their  deserts ;  and  it  follows  me  to  my 
prison.  It  will  find  no  end  but  in  that  decay  and  torpor,  that 
callousness  of  faculty,  which  long  imprisonment  is  said  to 
bring,  but  which,  as  yet,  I  do  not  feel.  Perhaps  I  may  never 
feel  it ;  for  strive  as  I  will  to  prepare  for  the  worst,  by  inuring 
my  mind  to  contemplate  it,  that  spark  of  hope  which  never, 
it  is  said,  dies  wholly  in  a  human  heart,  is  still  alive  in  mine. 
And  sometimes,  of  late,  it  has  kindled  and  glowed,  as  now, 
with  a  strange  brightness.  Is  it  a  delusion,  or  the  presage  of 
some  succor  not  far  distant  ?  Let  that  be  as  it  may,  I  will 
still  cling  to  the  possibility  of  a  better  time.  Whatever  new 
disaster  meets  me,  I  will  confront  it  with  some  new  audacity 
of  hope.  I  will  nail  my  flag  to  the  mast,  and  there  it  shall 
fly  till  all  go  down,  or  till  flag,  mast,  and  hulk  rot  together." 
19 


CHAPTER    XLII. 

But  droop  not;  fortune  at  your  time  of  life, 

Although  a  female  moderately  fickle, 
Will  hardly  leave  you,  as  she's  not  your  wife, 

For  any  length  of  days  in  such  a  pickle.  —  Don  Juan. 

HERE  his  reflections  were  interrupted  by  the  opening  of 
the  outer  door  of  his  cell,  and  a  voice  somewhat  sternly 
pronouncing  his  name. 

It  was  a  regulation  of  the  prison,  that  twice  a  day  an 
official  should  visit  each  cell,  to  prevent  the  possibility  of  the 
tenant's  attempting  to  escape,  or  hold  communication  with 
neighboring  prisoners.  This  duty  was  commonly  discharged 
by  non-commissioned  officers  of  certain  corps  in  the  garrison. 
Each  cell  had  two  doors.  The  outer  one  was  of  massive 
wood,  guarded  by  iron  plates  and  rivets.  The  inner  door, 
though  much  less  ponderous,  was  secured  with  equal  care  ; 
but  in  the  middle  of  it  was  an  oblong  aperture,  much  like 
that  of  a  post  office  letter  box,  though  shorter  and  wider. 
The  visiting  official  opened  the  outer  door,  and  without  open 
ing  the  inner,  could  see  the  prisoner  by  applying  his  eye  to 
this  aperture. 

"  What  are  you  doing  there  ?  "  demanded  the  voice,  in  the 
usual  form  of  the  visitor's  challenge. 

The  voice  was  different  from  that  to  which  Morton  had 

(218) 


VASSALL    MORTON.  219 

been  accustomed ;  and,  as  he  gave  the  usual  answer,  he 
looked  towards  the  opening.  Here  he  saw  a  full,  clear,  blue 
eye,  with  a  brown  eyebrow,  very  well  formed  ;  altogether  a 
different  eye  from  that  which  had  formerly  presented  itself,  — 
a  contracted,  blackish,  or  mud-colored  organ,  furrowed  round 
about  with  the  wrinkles  called  "  crow's  feet ;  "  —  altogether 
a  mean  and  vulgar-looking  eye,  belonging,  indeed,  to  a 
rugged  old  soldier,  whose  skull  might  safely  have  been 
warranted  sabre-proof. 

Morton  looked  at  the  eye,  and  the  eye  looked  at  him,  with 
great  intentness,  seemingly,  for  some  twenty  seconds.  Then 
it  disappeared,  but  returned,  and  resumed  its  scrutiny  for 
some  moments  longer. 

"  A  new  broom  sweeps  clean,"  thought  Morton ;  "  that 
fellow  means  to  do  his  duty." 

The  eye  vanished  at  length,  the  door  closed,  and  the  step 
of  the  retiring  visitor  sounded  along  the  flag-stones. 

Morton  thought  little  more  of  the  matter,  but  busied  him 
self  with  his  usual  masculine  employment  of  stocking  knit 
ting,  till  seven  in  the  evening,  when  the  visitor  came  on  his 
second  round,  and  the  same  voice  challenged  him  through  the 
opening.  He  looked  up,  and  saw  the  eye  again ;  when  to 
his  astonishment,  the  low,  hissing  sound  —  "  s  —  s  —  t  "  — 
used  by  Italians  and  some  other  Europeans  when  they  wish 
to  attract  attention,  sounded  from  the  soldier's  lips.  At  the 
next  instant,  however,  something  seemed  to  have  alarmed 
him  ;  for  the  eye  disappeared,  and  the  door  closed  abruptly. 

Morton  perplexed  himself  greatly  with  conjectures  about 
this  incident,  and  had  half  persuaded  himself  that  the  whole 


220  VASSALL   MORTON. 

was  a  cheat  of  the  fancy  ;  when,  on  the  next  morning,  as  he 
was  led  back,  under  a  guard,  from  his  walk  on  the  rampart, 
he  saw,  on  entering  a  long  gallery  of  the  prison,  a  tall  man 
approaching  from  the  farther  end.  He  recognized  him  at 
once.  It  was  Max  Kubitski,  the  corporal,  who  long  before 
had  guarded  him  to  his  sham  execution,  and  whose  friendly 
whisper  in  his  cell  had  wakened  in  him  a  short  gleam  of 
hope.  As  the  corporal  passed,  his  eye  met  Morton's  for  an 
instant,  with,  as  the  latter  thought,  a  glance  of  recognition. 

In  vain  he  tried  to  reason  down  the  new  hope  that,  in 
spite  of  himself,  this  meeting  kindled.  Of  one  thing  he  was 
sure ;  the  corporal's  eye  was  the  eye  that  looked  in  upon 
him  through  the  hole  in  the  door ;  and  he  felt  assured,  more 
over,  that,  from  whatever  cause,  the  corporal  inclined  to 
befriend  him. 

He  waited,  in  great  expectancy  and  some  agitation,  for  the 
next  visit ;  and  at  the  stated  hour,  the  outer  door  was 
opened,  and  the  eye  appeared. 

Morton,  as  he  replied  to  the  challenge,  made  a  gesture  of 
friendly  recognition. 

"  You  remember  me,  eh  ?  "  whispered  a  voice,  in  broken 
French  ;  "  be  always  close  to  the  door  when  I  come.  I  shall 
have  something  to  tell  you." 

The  moustached  lips  whence  the  whisper  issued  were 
withdrawn  from  the  opening,  and  Morton  was  left  to  his 
reflections. 

To  have  a  friend  near  him,  however  humble,  was  much, 
and  the  hope,  slender  as  it  seemed,  that  this  friend  might  aid 
him,  filled  him  with  a  feverish  excitement.  Why  the  corpo- 


VASSALL    MORTOX.  221 

ral  should  interest  himself  in  his  behalf,  he  could  not  imagine  ; 
and  he  waited  restlessly  for  his  next  coming. 

In  due  time,  the  eye  appeared. 

"  Look  here,"  whispered  Max,  and  thrust  a  paper  through 
the  opening,  waiting  only  long  enough  to  see  Morton  pick 
it  up. 

The  chirography  was  worse,  if  possible,  than  the  spelling  ; 
but  Morton  at  last  deciphered  words  to  the  following  purport. 

"  You  are  brave.  Don't  despair.  I  shall  help  you,  if  I 
can.  Long  live  America  !  Down  with  the  emperor  !  Only 
be  patient.  Be  sure  to  chew  this  paper,  and  swallow  it." 

The  last  injunction  had  its  objections,  and  the  prisoner 
compromised  the  matter  by  tearing  the  paper  into  small 
pieces,  and  stuffing  them  into  the  crevices  of  the  floor. 

At  the  next  appearance  of  the  eye,  Morton,  in  a  few  rapid 
words,  expressed  his  gratitude  ;  adding  that  if  the  corporal 
would  help  him  to  escape,  and  go  with  him  to  America,  he 
would  make  him  rich  for  life. 

The  intimation  probably  had  its  effect ;  and  yel  in  the  case 
of  Max  it  was  not  needed.  Though  his  tastes  and  habits 
savored  of  the  barrack,  the  corporal  was  one  of  the  most 
simple-hearted  and  generous  of  men,  with,  besides,  much  of 
that  kind  of  enthusiasm  of  character  which  is  apt  to  be  rather 
ornamental  than  useful  to  its  owner.  His  birth  and  connec 
tions  were  not  quite  so  low  as  might  have  been  argued  from 
his  mean  station  in  the  service,  in  which  his  life  had  been 
spent  from  boyhood.  He  was  a  native  of  Gallicia.  Several 
of  his  brothers,  and  others  of  his  relatives,  had  been  deeply" 
compromised  in  the  Polish  rising  of  1831,  and  had  r/iffered 
19* 


222  VASSALL    MORTON. 

heavy  and  humiliating  penalties  in  consequence.  His  eldest 
brother,  however,  had  escaped  in  time,  and  gone  to  America, 
where,  being  very  different  in  character  from  Max,  he  had 
thriven  wonderfully.  After  a  long  absence,  he  had  re 
appeared,  travelling  with  a  United  States  passport,  as  an 
American,  inveighing  against  European  despotisms,  and  di 
lating  on  the  glories  of  his  adopted  country.  Max,  the  only 
auditor  of  these  declamations,  was  greatly  excited  by  them. 
He  had  long  been  tired  of  his  thankless  position  in  the  Aus 
trian  service ;  and  listening  to  his  brother's  persuasions,  he 
agreed  to  desert,  and  go  with  him  to  America,  the  seat,  as  he 
began  to  imagine,  of  more  than  earthly  beatitude.  But  before 
he  could  find  opportunity,  his  cautious  brother  took  alarm ; 
and  seeing  some  indications  that  his  identity  was  suspected 
by  the  police,  decamped  with  the  promptness  and  alacrity 
which  had  always  distinguished  him  in  times  of  danger. 
Max,  therefore,  was  left  alone ;  his  adviser,  for  fear  of  com 
promising  him,  not  daring  to  attempt  any  communication. 

It  was  soon  after  this,  that,  being  on  guard  in  the  commis 
sioner's  inquest  room  at  Ehrenberg,  Max  first  saw  Morton, 
brought  in  for  examination,  and  learned  from  the  questions 
and  replies,  that  the  prisoner  was  an  American.  His  interest 
was  greatly  stirred  ;  for  he  had  never  seen  one  of  the  favored 
race  before ;  and,  like  the  commissioner,  he  had  no  doubt  that 
Morton  had  come  on  a  revolutionary  mission.  His  interest 
was  inflamed  to  enthusiasm,  when,  being  ordered  to  guard 
Morton  to  his  execution,  he  saw  the  calmness  with  which  the 
latter  faced  his  expected  fate.  Indeed,  his  soldier  heart  was 
moved  so  deeply,  that  in  the  flush  of  the  moment  he  con- 


VASSALL    MORTON.  223 

ceived  the  idea  of  helping  Morton  to  escape,  and  going  with 
him  to  the  land  of  promise.  It.  was  an  idea  more  easily  con 
ceived  than  executed ;  and  before  he  could  find  an  opportu 
nity,  his  corps  was  removed  from  the  castle,  and  sent  on  duty 
elsewhere. 

Max  had  always  detested  the  life  of  a  garrison,  and  espe 
cially  of  a  prison  garrison,  and  the  change  proved  very  agree 
able  to  him.  Though  brave  as  the  bravest,  he  had  not  much 
energy  or  forecast,  and  commonly  let  his  affairs  take  care  of 
themselves.  He  lived  on  from  day  to  day,  neither  abandon 
ing  his  plan  of  desertion,  nor  acting  upon  it ;  until,  after 
more  than  two  years,  he  was  remanded  to  Ehrenberg,  where 
his  old  disgust  returned  in  greater  force  than  ever.  In  this 
state  of  his  mind,  the  duty  of  visitor  was  assigned  to  him, 
thus  bringing  him  in  contact  with  Morton,  reviving  his  half- 
forgotten  feeling,  and,  at  the  same  time,  promising  him  an 
opportunity  to  carry  his  former  scheme  into  effect. 

To  this  time,  Morton  had  borne  his  troubles  with  as  much 
philosophy  as  could  reasonably  have  been  expected ;  but  now 
that  something  like  a  tangible  hope  began  to  open  on  him, 
the  excitement  became  intense.  He  waited  the  daily  visits 
of  the  soldier  with  a  painful  eagerness  and  suspense.  At  the 
stated  hours,  Max  always  came ;  and,  at  each  return,  some 
whispered  word  of  friendship  greeted  the  prisoner's  ear. 

Two  days  after  the  first  paper,  he  thrust  in  another ;  and 
Morton  read  as  follows  :  — 

"  We  must  wait ;  but  our  time  will  come  ;  perhaps  in  ten 
days  ;  perhaps  in  a  week.  I  shall  watch  for  a  chance.  Only 
be  patient." 


224  VASSALL    MORTOX. 

Five  long  and  anxious  days  succeeded ;  when,  on  the  fore 
noon  of  the  sixth,  Max  thrust  in  a  third  paper ;  and  Morton, 
with  a  beating  heart,  read,  — 

"  When  the  jailer  comes  this  afternoon,  make  him  talk  with 
you,  and  keep  him  with  his  back  to  the  door.  I  shall  come. 
Be  cool  and  steady.  I  shall  tell  you  what  to  do." 

Illness  and  long  confinement  had  wrought  upon  Morton's 
system  in  a  manner  which  made  it  doubly  difficult  to  preserve 
the  coolness  which  the  emergency  demanded ;  but  he  sum 
moned  his  utmost  resolution  to  meet  this  crisis  of  his  fate. 

The  jailer  was  nowise  addicted  to  conversation ;  and  how 
to  engage  him  in  it,  wTas  a  problem  of  some  difficulty.  There 
was  only  one  topic  on  which  Morton  had  ever  seen  him  at  all 
animated.  This  was  the  battle  of  Wagram,  in  which,  in  his 
youth,  he  had  taken  part,  and  where  he  had  received  a  sabre 
cut,  which  had  left  a  ghastly  blue  scar  across  his  cheek.  In 
dilating  on  this  momentous  passage  of  his  life,  the  old  German 
would  sometimes  be  roused  into  a  great  excitement ;  and 
Morton  had  often  amused  himself  with  trying  to  comprehend 
the  jargon  which  he  poured  out,  in  thick  gobbling  tones, 
about  cannonading  and  charging,  sabres  and  bombshells, 
pointing  continually  at  his  scar,  and  laboring  to  impress  his 
hearer  with  the  conviction,  immovably  fixed  in  his  own  mind, 
that  he,  Jacob,  was  one  of  the  chief  heroes  of  the  day. 

At  his  usual  hour,  about  the  middle  of  the  afternoon, 
Jacob  appeared.  As  he  came  in,  he  closed  the  outer  door, 
which  secured  itself  by  a  latch.  This  latch  could  be  moved 
back  from  within  or  without,  by  a  species  of  key  in  the  jail 
er's  keeping,  Max  also,  as  visitor,  having  a  duplicate.  The 


VASSALL    MORTON.  225 

jailer  alone  had  the  key  of  the  inner  door ;  but  this,  during 
his  stay  in  the  cell,  he  never  thought  it  necessary  to  close. 

Jacob  went  through  his  ordinary  routine,  breathing  deeply, 
meanwhile,  and  talking  unconsciously  to  himself,  after  his 
usual  manner. 

"  Do  you  know,  Jacob,"  said  Morton,  seating  himself  on  a 
stool  in  the  farther  corner,  "  I  was  dreaming  the  other  night 
of  you  and  the  battle  of  Wagram." 

"  Eh  !  "  grunted  the  jailer. 

"  What  you  have  been  telling  me  about  it  is  a  lie.  You 
were  never  in  that  battle  at  all." 

"  Eh ! " 

"You  were  frightened,  and  ran  off  before  the  fighting 
began." 

"  Run!  I  run  off !  "  growled  Jacob,  the  idea  slowly  pen 
etrating  his  brain. 

Morton  nodded  assent. 

The  jailer  turned  and  stared  at  him  for  a  moment  with  open 
eyes  and  mouth.  Theji,  as  his  wrath  slowly  mounted,  he 
began  -to  pour  forth  a  flood  of  denial,  mixed  with  invective 
against  his  assailant,  appealing  to  his  scar  as  proof  positive 
of  his  valor. 

'*  A  sabre  never  made  that  scar,"  said  Morton,  as  the  other 
paused  in  his  eloquence. 

Jacob  stared  at  him,  speechless. 

"You  got  it  in  a  drunken  row." 

At  this  Jacob's  rage  seemed  to  choke  his  utterance ;  and 
Morton  thought  he  would  attack  him  bodily,  as  he  stood  be 
fore  him,  shaking  his  fists,  and  stamping  on  the  pavement. 


226  VASSALL    MOKTON. 

This  pantomime  was  brought  to  a  sudden  close  by  a  pair 
of  strong  hands  clinched  around  Jacob's  neck  from  behind, 
with  the  gripe  of  a  vice. 

*'  Shut  the  door,"  whispered  Max. 

On  entering,  he  had  left  it  ajar.  Morton  hastened  to  close 
it.  The  corporal  meanwhile  laid  Jacob  flat  on  the  floor  of 
the  cell. 

"  Take  my  bayonet,  and  run  it  through  him  if  he  makes  a 
sound." 

Morton  drew  the  bayonet  from  its  sheath  at  the  belt  of 
Max,  and  kneeling  on  the  jailer's  breast,  pressed  the  point  of 
the  weapon  against  his  throat.  Max  then  loosed  his  grasp, 
and  gagged  him  effectually  with  a  piece  of  wood  and  a  cord 
which  he  had  brought  for  the  purpose.  Jacob  lay,  during  the 
whole,  quite  motionless,  glaring  upward  with  glassy,  blood 
shot  eyes,  stupefied  with  fright  and  astonishment. 

"  You  must  put  on  his  clothes,"  said  Max. 

They  accordingly  took  off  the  jailer's  outer  garments, 
which  Morton  substituted  for  his  own,  drawing  the  deep- 
visored  cap  over  his  eyes.  Max,  at  the  same  time,  bound  the 
jailer,  hand  and  foot,  with  strings  of  leather,  which  he  took 
from  his  pocket. 

"  Look  out  into  the  gallery,"  he  said,  unclosing  the  door, 
"and  see  if  there's  any  body  in  the  way." 

Morton,  in  his  jailer's  dress,  went  out,  and,  looking  back, 
reported  that  the  coast  was  clear.  Max  followed,  and  closed 
the  door.  The  helpless  Jacob  remained  a  prisoner,  till  some 
other  functionary  of  the  castle  should  come  to  his  relief. 

They  passed  along  the   gallery,  down  one  flight  of  steps, 


VASSALL    MORTON.  227 


and  up  another,  meeting  no  one  but  a  soldier,  to  whom  Max 
gave  a  careless  nod  of  recognition.  There  were  several  pri 
vate  outlets  to  the  castle,  but  each  was  guarded  by  a  sentinel ; 
and  it  was  chiefly  his  preparation  against  this  difficulty  that 
had  caused  Max's  delay. 

Among  his  acquaintance  was  an  old  soldier,  called  Peter, 
—  a  Prussian  by  birth.  He  had  learned  to  read  and  write, 
and  being  inordinately  vain  of  his  superior  acquirements, 
looked  upon  himself  as  the  most  learned  of  men.  When  off 
duty,  he  was  commonly  to  be  found  in  a  corner  of  the  bar 
rack,  poring  over  a  greasy  little  book,  which  he  always  car 
ried  in  his  pocket.  As  his  temper  was  exceedingly  sour  and 
disagreeable,  he  was  no  favorite  ;  indeed,  he  was  the  general 
butt  of  his  brother  soldiers,  who  delighted  to  exasperate  his 
crusty  mood.  Max,  however,  with  a  view  to  the  furtherance 
of  his  scheme,  had  of  late  courted  his  good  graces,  flattering 
him  on  his  learning,  often  asking  him  to  drink,  and  otherwise 
cajoling  him.  Finding  that,  on  this  day,  Peter's  turn  had 
come  to  stand  guard  at  a  certain  postern  of  the  prison,  he 
had  contrived  to  drug  him  with  a  strong  dose  of  opium, 
mixed  with  a  dram  of  bitters.  Max,  who  was  a  singular 
compound  of  simplicity  and  finesse,  the  former  the  result  of 
nature,  the  latter  of  circumstance,  plumed  himself  greatly  on 
this  exploit. 

As  they  approached  the  narrow  door  in  question,  Max 
stooped  and  took  off  his  shoes,  motioning  Morton  to  do  the 
same.  At  a  few  paces  farther  on,  they  saw  the  sentinel, 
walking  to  and  fro  on  his  post,  with  no  very  military  gait. 

Max,  who  was  wonderfully  cool  and  composed,  pressed 
Morton's  arm. 


228  VASSALL    MORTON. 

"  Voila,  monsieur" — lie  was  now  and  hereafter  very  re 
spectful  in  his  manner  towards  the  man  he  was  saving,  — 
"  voild ;  look  at  the  old  booby ;  how  he  reels  and  staggers 
about  —  ah  !  do  you  see  ?  " 

Peter  had  stopped  in  his  walk,  and  was  leaning  against  the 
wall,  nodding  his  head  with  a  look  indescribably  sleepy  and 
silly.  Meanwhile  his  musket  was  slowly  slipping  down  be 
tween  his  arm  and  his  side,  in  spite  of  one  or  two  efforts  to 
clutch  it.  At  last  the  butt  struck  on  the  pavement.  The 
sound  roused  the  sentinel  from  his  torpor.  He  shook  him 
self,  and  began  his  walk  again ;  but  in  a  few  moments 
stopped,  leaned  his  shoulder  against  the  wall,  on  the  farther 
side  of  the  door,  let  his  musket  this  time  rest  fairly  on  the 
floor,  and  began  nodding  and  butting  his  head,  in  a  most 
ludicrous  manner,  into  an  angle  of  the  wall. 

Max  again  pressed  Morton's  arm,  and  gliding  on  tiptoe 
past  the  drugged  sentinel,  they  went  out  at  the  door  without 
alarming  him.  They  were  now  in  an  obscure  and  narrow 
precinct  of  the  castle,  flanked  on  one  side  by  a  high  wall  of 
ancient  masonry,  and  on  the  other  by  the  rear  of  various  out 
buildings.  The  place  did  no  great  credit  to  the  neatness  of 
the  garrison,  being  littered  with  a  variety  of  refuse ;  but  no 
living  thing  was  visible  ;  none,  that  is,  but  a  gray  cat  sneak 
ing  along  under  the  wall  of  a  shed,  with  a  newly-killed  rat 
dangling  from  her  mouth. 

They  next  passed  into  a  wider  area,  overlooked  on  the  left 
by  the  rear  of  the  principal  range  of  barracks. 

"  Hallo,  Max,  where  are  you  going  ?  "  cried  a  voice. 

Max  looked  up,  and  saw  a  brother  corporal  leaning  out  at 


VASSALL    MORTON.  229 

one  of  the  barrack  windows,  with  a  fatigue  cap  on  one  side 
of  his  head,  and  a  German  pipe  between  his  moustached  lips. 

"  To  the  village." 

"  Who  gave  you  leave  ?  " 

"  The  lieutenant." 

"It's  good  company  you  are  in.  What  are  you  going  to 
do  below  ?  " 

"  Get  me  a  pipe.  Mine  is  broke.  What  is  a  man  fit  for 
without  his  pipe  ?  " 

The  other  at  the  window  replied  by  a  joke,  not  very  re 
fined,  levelled  at  Max  and  nis  companion.  Max  retorted 
only  by  a  ludicrous  gesture  of  derision,  which  drew  a  horse 
laugh  from  a  soldier  at  another  window,  under  cover  of  which 
they  passed  out  of  the  area,  and  reached  a  pathway  leading 
down  the  height. 

A  natural  gully,  or  shallow  ravine,  twisted  and  zigzagged 
down  the  side  of  the  rock.  In  wet  weather,  it  became  a 
little  watercourse,  conducting  all  the  rain  that  fell  on  the 
western  roofs  of  the  castle  down  to  the  filthy  and  picturesque 
hamlet  of  Ehrenberg,  with  its  dirty  population  of  five  hun 
dred  Wallack  and  Croat  peasants,  and  a  horde  of  dirtier 
gypsies,  nested  in  the  outskirts.  In  dry  weather,  the  gully 
served  as  a  pathway,  which  the  soldiers  often  used  in  their 
descents  to  the  village. 

Max  began  to  descend,  and  Morton  followed  at  his  heels. 
The  fresh  wind,  the  open  view,  the  unwonted  sense  of  tread 
ing  mother  earth,  wrought  on  him  strangely;  not,  as  on 
the  wrestler  of  old,  to  nerve  him  with  renewed  force.  He 
grew  faint,  dizzy,  and  half  blind  ;  and  as  he  staggered  after 
20 


230  VASSALL    MOKTON. 

his  guide,  lie  felt  for  the  first  time  how  the  prison  had  sapped 
away  his  strength. 

In  ten  minutes,  they  were  at  the  bottom,  and  picking  their 
way  past  the  rear  of  the  squalid  cottages,  among  rickety  out 
houses,  broken  fences,  heaps  of  litter,  pigs,  children,  and 
other  impediments.  Most  of  the  men  were  absent ;  a  few 
women  only  stared  at  them  as  they  passed.  With  one  very 
pretty  Wallack  girl,  Max,  for  the  sake  of  appearances,  ex 
changed  a  few  words  of  bantering  gallantry.  She  stood 
looking  after  him  admiringly.  Behind  the  next  cottage,  a 
yellow  Hungarian  shepherd  dog,  large  as  a  wolf,  jumped  sud 
denly  from  a  heap  of  rotten  straw,  on  which  he  had  been 
dozing,  and  made  a  fierce  dash  at  Max's  leg  ;  but  the  latter 
gave  him  a  kick  in  the  teeth,  which  sent  him  off  yelping, 
followed  by  a  brickbat,  and  a  curse  from  the  Wallack  damsel. 

Beyond  the  village,  the  ground  was  without  trees  or  shrubs 
for  a  full  half  mile  ;  yet  it  was  uneven,  —  not  to  say  broken  ; 
and  Max,  who  had  made  a  careful  reconnaissance,  knew  that 
if  they  could  but  reach  unnoticed  a  hollow  some  twenty  rodV 
from  the  skirts  of  the  hamlet,  no  eye  from  the  ramparts  could 
see  them.  Towards  this,  therefore,  he  walked,  with  an  air 
of  great  nonchalance,  Morton  following,  his  heart  in  his 
throat.  Their  movements  were  either  unseen,  or  failed  to 
excite  suspicion  ;  and  taking  a  beaten  track  into  the  hollow, 
they  came  upon  a  spring  at  the  foot  of  a  rock,  where  three 
women  were  pounding  clothes  on  a  stone  with  clubs,  by  way 
of  washing  them ;  while  a  lazy  boor,  in  a  broad  felt  hat,  lay 
on  the  ground  listlessly  watching  the  process. 

In  five  minutes  more,  the  hollow  ceased  to  conceal  them ; 


YASSALL    MORTON.  231 

and,  to  Morton's  great  dismay,  they  stood  again  within  eye 
shot  of  the  castle.  Max,  however,  with  the  skill  of  an  old 
deer  stalker,  soon  managed  to  place,  first,  a  large  rock,  then 
the  rugged  shoulder  of  a  hill,  between  themselves  and  the 
detested  battlements.  Next  they  gained  the  partial  shelter 
of  the  scattered  scrub  oaks  and  pines  which  formed  a  ragged 
outskirt  to  the  deeper  forest  behind,  and,  in  a  few  moments 
more,  reached  the  dark  asylum  of  its  matted  boughs  and 
underwood. 

Thus  far  they  had  walked  at  the  leisurely  pace  of  a  pair  of 
idle  strollers  ;  but  no  sooner  were  they  well  out  of  sight, 
than  Max  cried,  "  Come  on  !  "  and  set  out  at  a  run.  When 
he  turned,  however,  and  saw  the  pale  face  of  Morton,  already 
tired  with  unwonted  effort,  he  took  a  flask  of  brandy  from 
his  pocket.  The  fiery  draught  strung  Morton's  sinews  afresh. 
They  pushed  on,  over  hills  and  hollows,  by  cattle  paths  and 
brooks,  across  open  glades,  and  through  wooded  tracts,  dense 
and  breathless  as  an  American  forest. 

"  Look !  "  said  Max,  stopping  on  a  rising  ground,  and 
pointing  back  over  the  woods.  Three  miles  off,  the  rock  of 
Ehrenberg  rose  in  view,  bearing  aloft  its  heavy  load  of  battle 
ments  and  towers.  Morton  gave  it  one  look,  prayed  it 
might  be  the  last,  and  motioned  his  companion  forward 
again. 

They  came  to  a  lazy  brook,  stealing  out  of  a  marsh.  In 
the  mud  by  its  side  was  the  slough  where  a  wild  boar  had 
wallowed.  The  solitude  and  savageness  of  the  place  shot  a 
fresh  life  through  Morton's  failing  veins.  The  sense  came 
upon  him  that  his  fate  was  now  in  his  own  hands ;  the 


232  VASSALL    MORTON. 

resolve  that  he  would  never  be  taken  alive.  He  called  Max 
to  stop. 

"  Have  you  any  weapon  besides  your  bayonet  ?  " 

Max  produced  a  pair  of  pistols,  which  he  had  contrived  to 
appropriate  ;  and,  keeping  one  of  them,  handed  the  other  to 
Morton. 

It  was  dusk  before  they  stopped,  in  the  depth  of  the  woods, 
on  a  grassy  spot,  shut  in  by  a  tall  cliff,  and  a  growth  of  old 
beeches,  oaks,  and  evergreens.  Morton  threw  himself  on  the 
ground.  Max  made  a  fire,  by  plugging  up  the  touch-hole  of 
his  flint-lock  pistol,  and  placing  in  the  pan,  by  way  of  tinder,  a 
piece  of  cotton  rag,  rubbed  with  a  little  wet  gunpowder. 
Morton  roused  himself,  and  breaking  off  small  branches  of  the 
firs  and  spruces,  piled  them  for  beds.  The  loaf  which  the  jailer 
had  brought  for  his  next  day's  meal,  with  some  more  solid 
viands  which  Max  produced,  served  them  for  supper ;  and, 
for  drink,  they  scooped  water  in  their  hands  from  the  neigh 
boring  brook. 

It  grew  dark,  and  as  they  sat  together  by  the  fire,  the  red 
light  flared  against  the  jagged  rock,  the  shaggy  fir  boughs, 
and  knotty  limbs  of  the  oaks.  It  seemed  to  Morton  as  if 
time  and  space  were  done  away ;  as  if  the  prison  were  a 
dream  ;  and  as  if,  once  more  on  some  college  ramble,  he  were 
seated  by  a  camp  fire  in  the  familiar  forests  of  America.  But 
instead  of  a  vagabond  Indian,  or  the  hardy  face  of  a  Penob- 
scot  lumberman,  the  flame  fell  on  the  frogged  uniform  and 
long,  waxed  moustache  of  Corporal  Max,  as  he  sat  cross- 
legged,  like  a  Turk,  on  the  pile  of  evergreens. 

As  Morton  looked  on.  his  manly  face,  and  thought  of  the 


VASSALL    MORTON.  233 

boundless  debt  he  owed  him,  his  heart  warmed  towards  him, 
and  he  poured  forth  his  gratitude  as  well  as  he  could,  in  the 
patchwork  of  languages  which  Max  himself  had  used  as  his 
medium  of  communication. 

The  latter  soon  fell  asleep,  and  lay  snoring  lustily.  With 
his  companion  sleep  was  impossible.  He  lay  watching  the 
stars,  and  the  dull  folds  of  smoke  that  half  hid  them,  listen 
ing  to  the  wind,  and  the  mysterious  sounds  of  the  forest,  and, 
as  the  night  drew  on,  sharing  with  the  damp  and  cold.  His 
mind  was  a  maze  of  confused  emotions,  suspense,  and  delight, 
hope,  and  fear,  mingling  in  a  dreamy  chaos  ;  till  at  last 
fatigue  prevailed,  and  he,  too,  fell  asleep  ;  a  sleep  haunted  by 
hideous  images,  yet  with  its  intervals  of  deep  peace  and 
repose. 

He  woke,  shivering  ;  and  rising  in  the  twilight,  stirred  the 
half-dead  embers,  and  crouched  over  them  for  warmth.  But, 
as  the  fresh  odors  of  the  morning  reached  his  senses,  they 
brought  so  vividly  upon  him  the  memory  of  his  youthful 
health,  and  hope,  and  liberty,  that  his  spirits  rose  almost  to 
defiance  of  the  peril  around  him.  He  woke  Max,  whose 
slumbers  were  noisy  as  ever,  and  they  pushed  forward  again 
on  a  well-beaten  cattle  path,  leading  westward. 

About  sunrise  they  found  a  cow,  one  of  the  gray,  long- 
horned  breed  of  the  country,  grazing  very  peacefully.  Max 
looked  about  him,  and  began  to  move  with  caution.  The 
cow  was  wild,  and  would  not  let  them  pass  her,  but  walked 
before  them  along  the  path.  In  a  few  minutes,  a  great  num 
ber  of  cattle  appeared,  grazing  on  an  open  glade,  with  two 
men  watching  them.  They  were  of  the  half-savage  herds- 
20* 


234  VASSALL   MOETON. 

men  of  tins  district,  little  better  than  banditti.  One  of  them 
sat  on  a  rock,  the  other  lounged  on  the  grass.  Both  were 
dressed  in  coarse  linen  shirts  and  trousers,  short,  heavy  wool 
len  cloaks  thrown  over  their  shoulders,  a  kind  of  rude 
sandals,  and  broad  felt  hats.  For  weapons,  one  carried  a 
club,  the  other  a  hatchet,  the  long  handle  of  which  served 
him  for  a  walking  stick. 

Max  whispered  to  Morton ;  and  stealing  unperceived 
through  the  bushes,  they  suddenly  appeared  before  the  two 
men,  much,  as  it  seemed,  to  their  amazement.  Max,  in  a 
language  quite  new  to  his  companion,  desired  them  to  change 
clothes  with  Morton  and  himself.  The  voice  and  air  of  the 
applicant,  and  the  butt  of  a  pistol  protruding  from  the  breast 
pocket  of  each  of  the  strangers,  gave  warning  that  the  wish 
could  not  wisely  be  slighted.  The  boors  complied,  the  more 
willingly  as  they  would  be  great  gainers  by  the  bargain. 
Max  threw  off  his  uniform,  and  put  on  the  dress  of  the  taller 
herdsman.  Morton  satisfied  himself  with  the  woollen  cloak 
of  the  other,  in  exchange  for  the  jailer's  coat. 

The  exchange  made,  he  signed  to  the  man  to  give  him  the 
hatchet  which  he  carried  ;  but  the  boor  hesitated,  scowling 
very  sullenly.  Max  hastened  to  interpose,  and  offered  a  silver 
coin  in  return  for  the  hatchet,  which  its  owner  at  once 
surrendered.  It  was  by  no  means  any  love  of  abstract  justice 
which  dictated  this  procedure  ;  but  a  desire,  on  Max's  part, 
to  leave  the  men  in  good  humor,  lest,  being  offended,  they 
might  set  the  soldiers  on  the  track  of  the  fugitives. 

They  parted  on  the  best  terms,  and  Max  and  Morton 
betook  themselves  again  to  the  woods. 


CHAPTER   XLIII. 

Like  bloodhounds  now  they  search  me  out ;  — 

Hark  to  tLo  vhiftla  and  the  shout!  — 

The  uluiso  id  up,  — but  they  shall  know, 

The  stag  at  bay's  a  dangerous  fuo.  —  Lady  of  (lie  Lake. 

THREE  or  four  weeks  passed.  They  were  deep  within  the 
bounds  of  Tyrol.  By  avoiding  towns  and  highways,  travel 
ling  often  in  the  night,  making  prize  of  every  stray  sheep, 
pig,  or  fowl,  and  a  diligent  robbing  of  henroosts,  they  had 
thus  far  contrived  to^  elude  arrest,  and  support  life. 

Morton  was  greatly  changed.  Body  and  mind,  he  was 
formed  for  hardship,  and  toils  which  would  have  broken  a 
weaker  frame  had  nerved  and  strengthened  his.  But  of  late 
their  suffering  had  increased.  They  found  but  poor  forage 
among  the  poverty-pinched  mountaineers,  and  for  two  days, 
had  had  no  better  sustenance  than  the  soft  inner  bark  of  the 
pine  trees.  This,  with  previous  abstinence,  had  sunk  them  to 
the  last  extremity,  and  brought  Max  to  the  verge  of  despair. 

It  was  a  rainy  afternoon ;  rain  drizzling  in  the  valleys, 
clouds  hanging  on  the  mountains,  dark  vapors  steaming  up 
from  the  chasms,  and  clinging  sullenly  to  the  edge  of  the 
pine  forests.  Max  and  Morton  sat  under  a  dripping  rock,  on 
a  mountain  which  overhangs  a  nameless  little  valley,  not  far 
to  the  north  of  the  Val  di  Sole. 

(235) 


236  VASSALL    MOETON. 

"  Keep  a  good  heart,  Max,"  said  Morton,  "  it  shall  go  hard 
but  you  and  I  will  get  out  of  this  scrape  yet." 

Max  shook  his  head  despondingly.  His  bold  spirit  was 
starved  out  of  him.  Morton's  courage,  unlike  that  of  his 
companion,  was  the  result  more  of  his  mental  habits  than  of 
a  native  constitutional  intrepidity,  and  was  therefore  much 
less  subject  to  the  changes  of  his  bodily  condition.  He  had 
proved  Max,  and  knew  him  to  be  brave  as  he  was  warm  and 
true-hearted ;  but  the  corporal's  valor,  like  that  of  Homer's 
heroes,  was  best  displayed  on  a  full  stomach. 

"  There's  nothing  else  for  it,"  said  Morton ;  "  we  must 
take  the  bull  by  the  horns.  One  of  those  houses  below  is  an 
inn,  or  something  that  pretends  to  be  one.  I  can  see  the 
bush  fastened  to  the  door  post.  We  must  go  and  buy  food  ; 
or  else  lie  here  and  die." 

"  It  is  better  to  be  shot  than  starve,"  said  Max. 

"  Come  on,  then.  You  must  be  spokesman.  I  am  good 
for  nothing  in  that  way ;  .but  if  there's  any  trouble,  I'll  stand 
by  you  as  well  as  I  can." 

Max  had  had  a  little  money  in  copper  and  silver,  the 
greater  part  of  which  he  had  consigned  to  the  keeping  of 
Morton,  as  the  more  careful  treasurer.  With  this  for  their 
passport,  they  issued  from,  the  cover  of  the  woods,  and  began 
to  cross  the  mountain  slopes  and  rough  pasture  that  lay  be 
tween  them  and  the  hamlet. 

The  latter,  as  they  drew  near,  seemed  by  no  means  so  in 
significant  as  at  first,  a  rising  ground  having  hidden  a  part  of 
it.  They  came  to  the  inn,  a  low  stone  building  of  a  most 
respectable  antiquity,  and  pushing  open  the  door,  were  met 


YASSALL    MORTON.  237 

by  a  short  man  who  seemed  to  be  the  owner.  Max  produced 
a  handful  of  kreutzers,  and  asked  for  bread  and  meat.  The 
host  looked  at  the  strangers,  then  at  their  money ;  seemed 
satisfied  with  both,  and  showed  them  up  a  flight  of  broken 
steps  to  a  large  room  above  the  half-sunken  kitchen.  Here, 
at  his  call,  a  girl  brought  the  food  and  placed  it  on  a  table. 
He  next  asked  if  they  would  not  have  beer ;  and  Max  as 
senting,  went  out  to  bring  it. 

The  fugitives  now  addressed  themselves  to  their  meal  with 
the  keenness  of  starving  men ;  but  the  prudent  Morton  took 
care,  at  the  same  time,  to  secure  the  more  portable  of  the 
viands  for  future  need.  Having  dulled  the  edge  of  his  appe 
tite,  he  began  to  grow  uneasy  at  the  landlord's  long  absence. 

"  What  is  that  man  doing  ?  He  might  have  brewed  the 
beer  by  this  time." 

"  He  does  take  his  time,"  responded  Max,  also  growing 
anxious. 

"  This  is  no  place  for  us.  Take  the  rest  of  that  biscuit, 
and  let's  be  off." 

Max  was  following  this  counsel,  when "  Hark  !  "  cried 

Morton ;  "  what  noise  is  that  ?  " 

"  Go  to  the  window  and  look." 

Morton  did  so. 

41 

"My  God!"  he  exclaimed,  recoiling,  his  face  ghastly  with 
dismay. 

Max  sprang  to  the  window.  Below,  at  the  door,  four  or 
five  men  were  standing,  and  among  them  two  gendarmes, 
while  others  were  in  the  act  of  entering. 

The  outlandish  dress  of  the  two  strangers  had  at  once 


238  VASSALL    MO  ETON. 

roused  the  landlord's  suspicion.  Of  Max's  character  he  had 
not  a  moment's  doubt ;  for  in  him  no  disguise  could  hide 
the  look  and  port  of  the  trained  soldier.  By  ill  luck,  a  party 
of  gendarmes  were  in  the  village,  weather-bound  on  their 
way  from  Latsch.  Having  secured  his  guests'  money,  the 
landlord  thought  to  make  a  farther  profit  from  them ;  and, 
sure  of  his  reward,  reported  to  the  officer  in  command,  that 
there  were  in  his  house  two  men,  the  taller  of  whom  was  cer 
tainly  a  deserter,  while  the  other  could  not  be  a  peasant, 
though  he  wore  the  dress  of  one.  The  officer  mustered  his 
followers,  and  hastened  to  beat  up  the  game. 

He  entered  as  Max  turned  from  the  window,  and  came  up 
to  him,  sword  in  hand. 

"  I  arrest  you.     Give  yourselves  up,  you  and  the  other." 

But  before  the  words  were  well  out  of  his  mouth,  the  fist 
of  Max  fell  between  his  eyes  like  a  battering  ram,  and  dashed 
him  back  against  the  soldier  next  behind  him. 

"  Come  on,"  cried  Max  to  Morton,  and  leaped  through  the 
open  window  at  the  farther  end  of  the  room.  Morton  fol 
lowed  in  time  to  escape  two  or  three  bayonet  thrusts  which 
were  made  after  him.  They  both  vaulted  over  a  fence,  and 
ran  through  the  narrow  passage  between  an  old  shed  and  a 
huge  square  stack  of  the  last  year's  hay.  A  musket  or  two 
were  let  off  at  them,  but  to  no  effect ;  and  splashing  across  a 
shallow  brook,  they  made  at  headlong  speed  for  the  shelter 
of  the  mountains. 

As  they  reached  the  base,  Max  looked  back.  Seven  or 
eight  gendarmes  were  after  them,  and  behind,  later  joining 
the  chase,  ran  two  or  three  men  in  a  different  dress. 


VASSALL    MORTON.  239 

"  Riflemen  !  "  muttered  Max,  with  an  oath. 

Breasting  the  rough  heights,  clinging  to  stumps,  roots,  and 
bushes,  they  made  their  way  up  with  all  the  speed  which 
desperate  need  could  give  them.  They  were  soon  among 
thick  trees,  hidden  from  the  pursuers,  and  almost  from  each 
other.  But  the  shouts  of  the  soldiers  came  up  from  below : 
they  all  gave  tongue  like  so  many  hounds. 

"  Curse  your  yelping  throats !  "  gasped  Morton.  Breath 
less  and  half  spent,  he  was  clinging  to  a  sapling  on  the  edge 
of  a  steep  pitch  of  the  hill.  One  of  the  soldiers  saw  him. 
A  musket  shot  rang  from  below,  the  hollow  hum  of  the  ball 
passing  high  above  his  head. 

Max  laughed  in  fierce  derision.  They  ran  forward  again 
across  a  wide  plateau,  nearly  void  of  trees ;  and  before  they 
had  fairly  gained  its  farther  side,  the  foremost  pursuers  were 
at  the  border  of  woods  they  had  just  left.  Their  late  fam 
ine  made  fatal  odds  against  them.  The  gendarmes,  indeecf, 
gained  little  in  the  race  ;  but  the  more  active  riflemen  were 
nearer  every  moment. 

Climbing,  running,  and  scrambling  among  rocks,  trees,  and 
bushes,  they  won  their  way  up  till  they  came  to  another 
plateau,  which  broke  the  ascent  of  the  mountain  a  furlong 
above  the  former.  Across  this  they  dashed  at  full  speed. 
They  were  within  a  rod  or  two  of  the  woods  beyond,  Max 
running  on  Morton's  left,  a  little  in  advance  of  him,  when  a 
musket  was  fired  at  them  from  behind.  The  aim  was  so  bad, 
that  they  did  not  even  hear  the  humming  of  the  bullet.  At 
the  next  instant,  came  a  dull,  plunging  report,  unlike  the 
former.  Max  leaped  four  feet  into  the  air,  and  fell  forward 


240  YASSALL    MORTON. 

on  his  face  with  a  force  that  seemed  to  shake  the  earth. 
Morton  kneeled  by  his  side  ;  turned  him  on  his  back  ;  lifted 
him  by  main  strength  into  a  sitting  posture.  Both  his  hands 
were  clutched  full  of  grass  and  earth. 

"  Max !  Max !  "  cried  Morton,  in  the  extremity  of  anguish ; 
"  speak,  Max,  for  God's  sake." 

But  Max  said  nothing.  His  hat  had  fallen  off;  his  eyes 
rolled  wildly  under  his  tangled  hair  ;  he  gasped  ;  blood  flowed 
from  his  lips ;  and  a  spot  of  blood  was  soaking  wider  and 
wider  upon  the  breast  of  his  shirt.  Then  a  deathly  change 
came  q.ver  his  dilated  eyeballs.  Morton  had  seen  the  throes 
of  the  wounded  bison,  when  the  fierce  eyes,  glaring  with  an 
gry  life,  are  clouded  of  a  sudden  into  a  dull,  cold  jelly,  fixed 
unmeaning  lumps.  It  was  a  change  like  this  that  he  saw  in 
the  eyes  of  Max.  His  friend  was  dead.  The  fatal  rifle  of 
Tyrol  had  done  its  work.  The  ball  had  pierced  him  from 
back  to  breast,  and  torn  through  his  heart  on  its  way. 

The  whole  passed  in  a  few  moments ;  but  when  Morton 
looked  up,  nearly  all  the  pursuers  were  in  sight  on  the  open 
ground,  and  one  of  them,  the  man  who  had  fired  the  death 
shot,  was  almost  upon  him.  He  snatched  Max's  pistol,  which 
had  fallen  on  the  grass,  and,  blind  with  grief  and  fury,  ran  for 
ward,  levelled,  and  pulled  the  trigger.  The  pistol,  wet  with 
the  rain,  missed  fire.  The  man  was  not  four  paces  off.  Mor 
ton  hurled  the  pistol  at  his  face.  The  iron  barrel  clashed 
against  his  teeth,  and  sent  him  reeling  backward,  bleeding 
and  half  stunned.  Griping  his  hatchet,  his  best  remaining 
friend,  Morton  turned  for  the  woods,  gained  them  at  throe 
bounds,  and  tore  through  the  cover  like  a  hunted  wolf. 


VASSALL    MOKTON.  241 

Over  rocks,  among  trees,  through  thickets  and  brambles, 
he  struggled  and  clambered  on,  seeking  safety,  like  the  Rocky 
Mountain  goat,  in  the  rudest  and  wildest  refuge.  But  in  a 
few  minutes,  his  flight  was  stopped.  Rocks  rose  before  him, 
and  rocks  on  each  side.  He  was  caught  in  a  complete  cut  de 
sac.  He  might  have  climbed  the  precipices,  but,  in  the  act, 
the  shots  from  below  would  soon  have  tumbled  him  to  the 
earth  again.  There  was  no  escape ;  and,  grinding  his  teeth 
in  rage  and  desperation,  he  turned  savagely  at  bay. 

Three  or  four  of  the  men  were  very  near  him ;  and  almost 
as  he  turned,  one  of  them  came  in  sight,  pushing  through  the 
bushes.  As  he  saw  .the  game,  he  gave  a  shout,  a  sort  of  view 
halloo.  Then  appeared  another,  and  another,  all  advancing 
upon  him.  In  a  moment,  he  would  have  been  in  their  hands, 
alive  or  dead ;  but,  without  waiting  the  attack,  he  sprang  on 
the  foremost  like  a  tiger,  and  plunged  his  hatchet  deep  in  the 
soldier's  eyes  and  brain.  Then  pushing  past  another,  who, 
with  a  hesitating  movement,  was  making  towards  him,  he 
dashed  down  a  sloping  mass  of  rocks,  dived  into  a  labyrinth 
of  thickets,  and  thence  into  a  dark  and  hollow  gorge  of  the 
mountain.  Along  this  he  ran  like  one  with  death's  shadow 
behind  him,  losing  himself  deeper  and  deeper  among  the  cha 
otic  rocks  and  ragged  trees.  He  stopped,  at  last,  and  listened. 
Far  behind,  he  could  hear  his  pursuers  shouting  to  each  other. 
The  pack  were  at  fault,  and  ranging  in  vain  search  after  him. 

Spent  as  he  was,  he  pressed  on  again,  following  upward 

for  an  hour  or  more  the  course  of  a  brook,  which  issued  from 

a  narrow   glen,  reaching  far  back  into  the  solitude  of  the 

mountains.     His  mind  was  dim  and  confused,  a  cloudland  of 

21 


242  VASSALL    MORTON. 

mixed  emotions ;  deep  grief  for  his  murdered  friend,  deep 
rage  that  he  had  been  hunted  like  a  wild  beast,  a  longing  for 
further  vengeance,  a  sense,  almost  to  despair,  of  his  own  lone 
liness  and  peril.  He  felt  himself  outcast  from  mankind, 
driven  back  to  find  a  sanctuary  among  the  dens  and  fastnesses 
of  Nature.  She  alone,  amid  the  general  frown,  seemed  pro 
pitious  ;  for  of  a  sudden  the  clouds  sundered  in  the  west ;  a 
gush  of  warm  light  poured  across  the  dripping  mountains, 
and  flushed  the  distant  glaciers  with  their  evening  rose-tint. 
In  the  depths  where  he  stood,  all  was  shadow  ;  but  the  crags 
above  were  basking  in  the  sunshine,  and  the  savage  old  pines, 
jewelled  with  rain  drops,  seemed  stretching  their  shaggy  arms 
to  welcome  the  kindly  radiance.  Morton  threw  himself  on 
the  ground,  and  commended  his  desperate  fortunes  to  the  God 
of  the  waste  and  the  mountain. 


CHAPTER    XLIV. 

In  dread,  in  danger,  and  alone, 

Famished  and  chilled,  through  ways  unknown, 

Tangled  and  steep,  he  journeyed  on.  —  Lady  of  (he  Lake. 

WHOEVER,  journeying  southward  from  Coire,  passes 
through  the  Via  Mala,  thence  through  the  village  of  Andeer, 
and  thence  turns  to  the  left,  following  a  mountain  path  up 
the  torrent  of  the  Aversa,  will  soon  lose  himself  in  the  soli 
tudes  of  the  savage  valley  of  Ferrera.  Thither  Morton  made 
his  way  ;  but  not  by  so  smooth  an  access.  Ignorant  of  the 
country,  and  guided  chiefly  by  the  sun,  he  had  pushed  blindly 
forward  by  puths  best  known  to  the  chamois  and  those  who 
chase  them. 

His  best  hope  had  been  to  meet  some  of  his  travelling 
countrymen,  from  whom  he  could  gain  help.  To  this  end  he 
had  once  and  again  approached  the  highways,  and  as  often 
some  real  or  seeming  danger  had  driven  him  back  to  the 
mountains.  For  a  day  or  more,  the  food  he  had  taken  from 
the  inn  served  to  support  him.  He  had  flung  away  Max's 
pistol,  but  still  had  his  own.  It  served  him  to  kindle  a  fire  ; 
and  by  loading  it  with  gravel,  in  place  of  shot,  he  contrived 
to  kill  thrushes  and  other  small  birds.  Their  nests,  too,  full 
at  this  time  of  eggs  and  young,  supplied  a  meagre  resource  ; 
and  once,  being  hard  pressed,  he  made,  a  Gallic  banquet  on  a 

(243) 


244  YASSALL    MOETON. 

party  of  serenaders  who  were  croaking  and  trilling  their 
evening  concert  about  the  edge  of  a  shallow  pool.  Frogs 
have  found  warm  eulogists  ;  but  never  did  the  art  of  Paris  or 
Bologna  transmute  those  delectable  reptiles  into  so  savory  a 
repast  as  did  the  famine-sharpened  appetite  of  Morton. 

Upon  fare  like  this,  he  wandered  on,  till  he  stumbled  upon 
the  valley  of  Ferrera. 

He  had  found  at  last  an  asylum  wild  enough  to  content 
the  most  pious  of  eremites,  or  the  most  desperate  of  bandits. 
Below  he  saw  the  raging  water  foaming  along  the  depths  of 
its  black  ravine  ;  above  —  the  stupendous  ramparts  that 
walled  the  valley  in  —  cliffs,  along  whose  giddy  verge  the 
firs  were  dwindled  to  feathers.  Cascades  spouted  from  their 
tops,  scattering  to  mist  and  nothingness  long  before  their 
measureless  leap  was  done.  The  tribute  drawn  from  the 
clouds  the  lavish  mountain  flung  back  to  the  clouds  again. 
Rocks  were  piled  on  rocks,  ruin  on  fuin,  and,  high  over  all, 
the  glaciers  of  the  Splugen  shone  like  cliffs  of  silver. 

Take  a  savage  from  his  woods  or  his  prairies,  and,  school 
him  as  you  will,  the  ingrained  savage  will  still  declare  itself. 
Take  the  most  polished  of  mankind,  turn  him  into  the  wil 
derness,  and  forthwith  the  dormant  savage  begins  to  appear. 
Hunt  him  with  enemies,  gnaw  him  with  hunger,  beat  him 
with  wind  and  rain,  and  observe  the  result ;  how  the  delicate 
tissues  of  civilization  are  blown  away,  how  rude  passions  start 
into  life,  how  his  bodily  cravings  grow  clamorous  and  impor 
tunate,  how  he  grows  reckless  of  his  own  "blood  and  the 
blood  of  others.  "  Men  are  as  the  times."  Young  Love 
lace  of  the  hussars  singing  a  duet  at  Lady  Belgrave's  soiree. 


YASSALL    MORTON.  245 

would  hardly  know  himself,  hewing  down  Russian  artillery 
men  at  Balaklava. 

Had  Meredith  met  his  old  comrade  as  he  was  making  his 
slow  way  among  the  rocks  and  ravines,  in  dress  no  better 
than  the  meanest  peasant,  his  face  moustached  and  bearded, 
and  thin  and  dark  with  hardship,  he  would  have  needed  the 
eyes  of  a  lynx  to  detect  Morton  the  millionaire.  The  mind 
of  the  latter  shared,  in  some  sort,  the  changes  of  his  outer 
man.  Proscribed  and  hunted,  starved  into  fierceness,  his 
best  friend  murdered  at  his  side,  his  mood  was,  to  say  the 
least,  none  of  the  most  benign.  But,  as  he  toiled  on  his 
way,  he  turned  aside  to  rest  in  a  sunny  nook,  deep  sheltered 
among  rocks.  Here,  where  the  fresh  grass  tempted  him,  and 
where,  from  a  jutting  crag,  the  water,  trickling  from  some  hid 
den  spring,  fell  in  rapid  drops,  tinkling  into  a  pool  below, 
and,  as  they  fell,  flashing  in  the  sun  like  a  string  of  diamonds, 
—  here,  in  this  quiet  nook,  he  sat  down  ;  and,  as  he  did  so, 
he  saw  by  his  side,  close  nestled  in  the  young  grass,  a  little 
family  of  white  and  purple  blossoms.  They  were  blossoms 
of  the  crocus,  a  native  of  these  valleys. 

Morton  bent  over  them,  and  put  aside  the  grass  from  the 
delicate  petals.  A  flower  will  now  and  then  find  a  voice, 
and  that  not  a  weak  one.  As  he  looked,  there  came  in  upon 
him  such  a  surge  of  recollection,  such  a  memory  of  New 
England  gardens,  such  a  vision  of  loved  faces,  and,  chief 
before  them  all,  the  face  he  best  loved,  such  an  awakening  of 
every  tender  thought  that  had  once  possessed  him,  and  all  in 
such  overpowering  contrast  with  his  present  misery,  that  the 
famished  outlaw  burst  into  a  flood  of  tears. 
21* 


CHAPTER    XLV. 

The  lamentable  change  is  from  the  best ; 

The  worst  returns  to  laughter.    Welcome,  then, 

Thou  unsubstantial  air  that  I  embrace.  —  Lear. 

THE  Honorable  Charles  Augustus  Murray,  recreating  him 
self  with  a  hunting  tour  among  the  Pawnees,  killed  a  buffalo  ; 
and  being,  as  he  assures  us,  ravenously  hungry,  proceeded  to 
regale  himself  on  his  game,  without  asking  the  aid  of  the 
cook.  Morton,  in  his  wandering,  had  the  good  luck  to  kill  a 
straggling  sheep  ;  and  being  twice  as  hungry  as  the  Honora 
ble  Charles  Augustus  Murray,  it  may  be  set  down  largely  to 
his  credit,  if  he  did  not  follow  that  gentleman's  example. 
At  all  events,  the  sheep  was  a  windfall  of  the  first  magnitude. 
Morton  had  woodcraft  enough  to  turn  the  fleece  into  a  recep 
tacle  for  carrying  such  parts  of  the  flesh  as  best  answered 
his  purposes  ;  and  thus  he  was  well  provisioned  for  several 
days. 

After  various  roamings,  by  night  and  by  day,  he  came 
upon  a  broad  road,  clearly  one  of  the  great  alpine  passes. 
Which  of  them  he  eould  not  tell.  He  would  have  given  the 
world  to  learn  ;  for  he  knew  nothing  of  his  wrhereabouts, 
and  thought  himself  still  in  Tyrol,  or,  at  the  best,  in  Bormio. 
His  attempts  to  gain  information  from  the  peasants  had 
always  failed,  and,  in  one  or  two  instances,  had  seemed  to 

(246) 


VASSALL    MORTON.  247 

threaten  serious  consequences.  Though  brave  enough  in  the 
front  of  an  open  danger,  the  secret  toils  which  had  been 
about  him  so  long  had  taught  him  to  shrink  from  the  face  of 
man.  Moreover,  he  could  not  speak  the  prevalent  language 
of  the  district,  and  his  Italian,  which  might  sometimes  have 
served  him,  was  none  of  the  best.  A  little  local  knowledge 
could  have  saved  him  a  world  of  suifering  ;  but,  in  the  lack 
of  it,  he  pushed  blindly  on,  resolved  to  die  on  the  mountains 
rather  than  risk  another  prison. 

The  sky  for  some  days  had  been  overclouded.  He  had 
lost  the  points  of  the  compass  ;  and  when  he  saw  the  great 
highway  stretching  before  him,  dim  and  lonely  in  the  gray 
of  the  morning,  he  thought,  or  hoped,  that  it  would  lead 
him  into  the  heart  of  Switzerland.  It  was  the  pass  of  the 
Splugen,  where  it  leaves  the  Rheinwald.  Turning  his  back 
on  safety,  he  began  to  plod  on  towards  the  lion's  jaws. 

Seeing  a  small  cottage,  in  a  recess  of  the  forest,  he  recon 
noitred  it,  with  the  laudable  view  of  robbing  a  henroost. 
While  thus  employed,  he  saw  two  men  leave  the  house,  and 
betake  themselves  to  their  work  in  some  remote  part  of  the 
mountain.  After  a  long  reconnaissance,  he  could  see  no  one 
about  the  place  but  a  young  woman,  about  six  feet  high, 
who,  fork  in  hand,  was  busying  herself  in  a  field  with  labors 
much  less  elegant  than  useful.  Morton  watched  her  for  a 
time,  then,  taking  heart  of  grace,  walked  towards  her  from 
his  lurking-place,  holding  between  his  fingers,  as  a  talisman, 
a  piece  of  silver,  part  of  the  scanty  trust  which  Max  had 
left  him. 

When  he  beheld  her  lusty  proportions,  her  white  teeth, 


248  VASSALL   MORTON. 

grinning  between  perplexity  at  his  appearance  and  pleasure 
at  sight  of  the  coin,  and  her  broad  cheeks,  ruddy  with 
health,  good-nature,  and  stupidity,  his  apprehensions  van 
ished.  She  seemed  not  at  all  afraid  of  him.  In  truth,  she 
and  her  pitchfork  might  between  them  have  put  two  common 
men  to  flight.  He  spoke  to  her  in  bad  Italian,  and  asked  for 
food,  proffering  the  money  in  exchange.  She  answered  in  a 
patois  which  was  Greek  to  him,  mixed  with  a  few  words  of 
Italian,  worse  than  his  own.  She  seemed,  however,  to  catch 
his  meaning  very  clearly  ;  for,  running  to  the  house,  she 
presently  emerged  with  a  loaf  of  barley  bread  and  a  formi 
dable  piece  of  bacon.  These  she  gave  him,  and,  taking  the 
silver,  tied  it  up  with  much  care  in  a  corner  of  her  apron. 

Thus  far  successful,  Morton  next  tried  to  learn  something 
touching  the  country  and  the  routes  ;  but  here  his  failure 
was  signal.  Where  food  and  drink  were  the  topics  in  hand, 
and  especially  when  her  wits  were  quickened  by  the  sight  of 
silver,  she  had  contrived  to  understand  him  ;  but  with  mat 
ters  more  abstruse  her  faculties  had  never  been  trained  to 
grapple.  She  showed,  however,  no  lack  of  good-will,  nod 
ding,  laughing,  and  answering,  "  <Si,  si!"  to  all  his  questions 
indiscriminately.  With  this  he  had  to  content  himself.  He 
bade  her  "  addio"  received  a  friendly  nod  and  grin  in  return, 
and  went  on  his  way,  much  less  bitter  against  mankind  than 
he  had  been  ten  minutes  before. 


CHAPTER    XLVI. 

Auf.  Your  hand!     Most  welcome. 

1  Serv.  Here's  a  strange  alteration! 

2  Serv.  By  my  hand,  I  had  thought  to  have  strucken  him  with  a  cudgel ;  and  yet 
my  mind  gave  me  his  clothes  made  a  false  report  of  him.  —  Conolanus. 

IN  passing  the  Splugen,  Morton  journeyed  chiefly  in  the 
night,  making  a  wide  detour  over  the  crusted  snow  to  avoid 
the  station  at  the  summit.  By  day,  he  found  some  safe 
retreat  where  he  could  rest  and  sleep  in  tolerable  ease  and 
warmth.  His  night  progress  was,  for  the  most  part,  on  a 
broad,  clear  road,  very  different  from  that  rugged  path  by  the 
Cardinel,  where,  some  forty-seven  years  before,  the  avalanches 
cut  through  Macdonald's  columns,  and  swept  men  and  horses 
to  bottomless  ruin. 

The  sky  was  still  clouded  ;  but  there  was  a  full  moon 
behind  the  clouds,  and  the  mountains  reflected  its  light,  from 
their  vast  surfaces  of  snow.  He  could  hear  any  approaching 
foot  from  a  great  distance,  for  there  was  nothing  to  break  the 
stillness  but  the  hollow  fall  of  torrents,  and  the  whisper  and 
moan  of  winds  through  ravines  and  gorges. 

On  the  third  night,  he  was  descending  the  defiles  that  lead 
from  Campo  Dolcino  to  Chiavenna.  He  passed  Chiavenna, 
and  soon  a  new  scene  opened  upon  him.  The  Alps  were 
behind  him,  cliff  and  chasm,  torrent  and  ravine,  and  the  icy 

(249) 


250  VASSALL    MORTOX. 

sheen  of  glaciers.  Italy  received  him,  robed  in  her  "fatal 
gift  of  beauty  ;  "  in  the  midst  of  her  shame,  radiant  as  in  her 
day  of  honor  ;  breathing  still  of  history,  and  art,  and  poetry. 

Standing  on  the  heights  behind  Colico,  he  saw  the  Lake 
of  Como  stretching  southward,  its  banks  studded  with  villas, 
its  hills  green  with  the  chestnut  and  the  laurel,  the  fig,  pome 
granate,  and  vine.  But,  to  the  north,  the  sheer  cliffs  rose 
like  a  battlement,  and,  higher  yet,  towered  cold  white  peaks, 
aloof  in  stern  and  lofty  desolation. 

Reality  mil  now  and  then  make  fancy  blush  for  herself. 
The  Easter  illumination  of  St.  Peter's  may  match  the  wildest 
dream  of  the  Arabian  Nights  ;  and  this  scene  on  the  Lake 
of  Como,  with  the  sunset  upon  it,  may  outvie  the  highest 
wrought  counterfeit  of  Claude  or  Salvator,  or  both  combined. 
The  world,  much  abused  as  she  is,  does  her  part.  She  is 
profuse  of  beauties  ;  but,  in  the  midst  of  them,  one  still 
drags  with  him  his  own  work-day  identity.  Go  where  he 
will,  his  old  Adam  still  hangs  about  him  ;  and  the  spell- 
breaking  sense  that  he  is  himself  and  no  other  scatters  every 
charm  that  Art  and  Nature  would  cast  over  him. 

Morton,  poor  devil,  had  other  matters  to  think  of  than 
scenery.  Hunger  and  danger  are  a  cure  for  the  most  rabid 
love  of  landscape.  His  bread  and  bacon  had  given  out,  and 
the  phantom  of  an  Austrian  sbirro  rode  him  like  a  nightmare. 
Mustering  his  best  recollections  of  geography,  he  came  to  the 
belief  that  he  was  either  on  the  Lake  of  Como,  or,  as  seemed 
to  him  much  more  likely,  on  the  lake  farther  eastward,  that 
of  Garda.  One  thing  was  certain  :  he  was  on  a  great  route  of 
travel.  His  best  course,  as  he  thought,  was  to  watch  for  the 


VASSALL    MORTON.  251 

chance  of  a  meeting  with  some  American  or  English  tourist, 
to  whom  he  could  make  his  case  known ;  and  meanwhile, 
though  a  worse  actor  never  appeared  on  any  stage,  to  pass 
himself  off,  if  he  could,  as  a  beggar. 

He  passed  a  night  on  the  hills  above  Colico,  and  happily 
for  him,  above  the  malaria;  woke  half  famished  from  his 
miserably  broken  sleep,  and  wearily  walked  on  his  way,  won 
dering  if,  in  support  of  his  character,  he  could  ever  find  grace 
to  say,  "  Datemi  qualche  cosa."  There  was  something  in  the 
idea  of  thus  sneaking  through  a  country  that  grated  on 
him  with  peculiar  discomfort ;  and  to  have  headed  the  forlorn 
hope  of  a  storming  party  would  have  been  less  trying  to  his 
nerve. 

The  thought  how  to  content  the  cravings  of  his  hunger 
soon  absorbed  all  other  thoughts.  Looking  about  him,  he 
saw  a  small  white  house,  standing  alone  on  the  road  by  the 
shore  of  the  lake ;  and  over  the  door  he  could  read  from 
afar  the  sign,  "  Spaccio  di  Vino"  Famine  got  the  better  of 
caution.  He  approached  warily,  ensconced  himself  behind 
an  old  wall,  and,  quite  unseen,  began  his  observations.  The 
house  was  but  a  few  rods  off,  on  the  other  side  of  the  road. 
An  old  wayfarer  sat  in  the  porch,  busy  in  breakfasting  on 
curds,  pressed  hard  like  a  cheese,  a  slice  of  very  black  and 
solid-looking  bread  serving  him  for  a  plate.  In  a  few  mo 
ments,  the  landlord,  a  freckled-faced  Italian,  came  to  the 
door,  and  began  to  chat  with  his  customer.  Morton  took  a 
coin  from  his  pocket,  walked  forth  from  his  hiding-place,  and 
was  approaching,  still  unnoticed,  when  he  was  startled  by  the 
sound  of  a  horse's  tread,  on  the  road  beyond  the  house.  A 


252  YASSALL    MOBTON. 

single  glance  at  the  rider  told  him  that  there  was  no  danger, 
and  made  his  heart  beat  with  sudden  hope. 

"  II  signor  Inglese"  remarked  the  host  to  his  friend.— 
"  Buorf  giorno,  eccellenza,  buon'  giorno" — lifting  his  white 
night  cap,  and  bowing  with  a  great  flourish. 

The  young  man  touched  his  hat  with  a  careless  smile,  and 
half-turning  his  horse,  asked,  — 

"  Padrone,  has  my  man  passed  this  way  ?  " 

He  had,  to  Morton's  eye,  rather  the  easy  manner  of  a  well- 
bred  American,  than  the  more  distant  bearing  common  with 
an  English  gentleman. 

"  Eccellenza,  si,''  replied  the  padrone,  —  "  he  passed  a  quar 
ter  of  an  hour  ago,  with  the  birds  your  excellency  has  shot." 

The  young  man  rode  on,  passing  Morton,  as  he  stood  by 
the  roadside. 

"  I  have  seen  that  face  before,"  said  the  latter  to  himself — 
"  in  a  dream,  for  what  I  know,  but  I  have  seen  it." 

It  was  a  frank  and  open  face,  manly,  yet  full  of  kindliness, 
not  without  a  tinge  of  melancholy. 

"  Come  of  it  what  will,"  thought  the  fugitive,  "  I  will  speak 
to  him." 

He  walked  after  the  retiring  horseman,  and  when  an  angle 
of  the  road  concealed  him  from  the  inn,  quickened  his  pace 
almost  to  a  run.  But  at  that  moment  the  Englishman  struck 
into  a  sharp  trot,  and  disappeared  over  the  ridge  of  a  hill. 
Morton  soon  gained  sight  of  him  again,  and  kept  him  in  view 
for  about  a  mile,  when  he  saw  him  enter  the  gateway  belong 
ing  to  a  small  villa,  between  the  road  and  the  water.  It  was 
a  very  pretty  spot ;  the  grounds  terraced  to  the  edge  of  the 


VASSALL    MORTON.  253 

lake  ;  with  laurels,  cypresses,  box  hedges,  a  fountain  or  two, 
an  artificial  grotto,  and  a  superb  diorama  of  water  and 
mountains. 

Morton  stood  waiting  at  the  gate.  At  length  he  saw  a 
female  domestic,  evidently  Italian,  passing  through  the  shrub 
bery  before  the  house,  and  disappearing  behind  it.  In  a  few 
minutes  more,  a  solemn  personage  appeared  at  the  door, 
whom  he  would  have  known  at  a  mile's  distance  for  an  old 
English  servant.  He  stood  looking  with  great  gravity  out 
upon  the  grounds.  Morton  approached,  and  accosting  him 
in  Italian,  asked  to  see  his  master. 

John  was  not  a  proficient  in  the  tongue  of  Ariosto  and 
Dante.  Indeed,  in  his  intercourse  with  the  natives,  he  had 
seen  occasion  for  one  phrase  alone,  and  that  a  somewhat  pithy 
and  repellant  one,  —  Andate  al  diavolo. 

He  glared  with  supreme  and  savage  scorn  on  the  tatterde 
malion  stranger,  and  uttered  his  talismanic  words,  — 

"  Andarty  al  devillio  !  " 

Morton  changed  his  tactics  ;  and,  looking  fixedly  at  the 
human  mastiff,  said  in  English,  — 

"Go  to  your  master,  sir,  and  tell  him  that  I  wish  to  speak 
with  him." 

The  Saxon  words  and  the  tone  of  authority  coming  from 
one  whom  he  had  taken  for  a  vagrant  beggar,  astonished  the 
old  man  beyond  utterance.  He  stared  for  a  moment, — 
turned  to  obey,  —  then  turned  back  again,  — 

"  Mr.  Wentworth  is  at  breakfast,  sir." 

The  last  monosyllable  was  spoken  in  a  doubtful  tone,  the 
22 


254  VASSALL    MORTON. 

speaker  being  perplexed  between  respect  for  the  tone  and 
language  of  the  stranger,  and  contempt  for  his  vagabond 
attire. 

"  Then  bring  me  pen,  ink,  and  paper  —  I  will  write  to 
him." 

And  pushing  past  the  servant,  he  seated  himself  on  a  chair 
in  the  hall. 

John  went  for  the  articles  required,  first  glancing  around 
to  see  what  items  of  plunder  might  be  within  the  intruder's 
reach.  Morton  in  his  absence  opened  several  books  which 
lay  upon  a  table  ;  and  in  one  of  them  he  saw,  pencilled  on 
the  fly  leaf,  the  name  of  the  owner,  Robert  Wentworth. 

The  pen,  ink,  and  paper  arriving,  he  wrote  as  follows, 
John  meanwhile  keeping  a  vigilant  guard  over  him  :  — 

Sir :  I  am  a  native  of  the  United  States,  who,  for  the 
past  four  years,  have  been  a  prisoner  in  the  Castle  of  Ehren- 
berg,  confined  for  no  offence,  political  or  otherwise,  but 
on  a  groundless  suspicion.  I  escaped  by  the  assistance 
of  a  soldier  in  the  garrison,  and  have  made  my  way  thus  far 
in  the  dress  of  a  peasant.  I  am  anxious  to  reach  Genoa,  or 
some  other  port  beyond  the  power  of  Austria,  but  am  em 
barrassed  and  endangered  by  my  ignorance  of  the  routes  and 
the  state  of  the  country.  Information  on  these  points,  and 
the  means  of  communicating  with  an  American  consul,  are  the 
only  aid  of  which  I  am  in  necessity  ;  and  I  take  the  liberty 
of  applying  to  you  in  the  hope  of  obtaining  it.  By  giving  it, 
you  will  oblige  me  in  a  matter  of  life  and  death.  The  people 


VASSALL    MORTON.  255 

of  the  country  cannot  be  trusted  ;  but  I  may  rely  securely  on 
the  generosity  of  an  English  gentleman. 

Your  obedient  servant, 

VASSALL  MORTON. 

He  sealed  the  note,  and  gave  it  to  the  old  servant.  The 
latter  mounted  the  stairs,  and  reappearing  in  a  few  moments, 
said,  in  his  former  doubtful  tone,  "  Please  to  walk  up." 

Morton  followed  him  to  the  door  of  a  small  room  looking 
upon  the  lake.  Near  the  window  stood  the  young  man 
whom  he  had  seen  at  the  inn,  with  the  note  open  in  his  hand. 
Morton  entered,  inclining  his  head  slightly.  The  other  re 
turned  his  salutation,  looked  at  him  for  an  instant  without 
speaking,  and  then,  coming  forward,  gave  him  his  hand,  and 
bade  him  welcome  with  the  utmost  frankness. 

Astonished,  and  half  overcome,  Morton  could  only  stam 
mer  his  acknowledgments  for  such  a  reception  of  one  who 
came  with  no  passport  but  his  own  word. 

"  O,"  said  Wentworth,  smiling,  "  when  I  meet  an  honest 
man,  I  know  him  by  instinct,  as  Falstaff  knew  the  true  prince. 
Sit  down  ;  I  am  glad  to  see  you ;  and  shall  be  still  more  glad 
if  I  can  help  you." 

The  old  servant  received  some  whispered  directions,  and 
left  the  room.  Morton  gave  a  short  outline  of  his  story,  to 
which  his  host  listened  with  unequivocal  signs  of  interest. 

"  I  wish,"  said  Wentworth,  "  that  you  were  the  only  inno 
cent  victim  of  Austrian  despotism.  It  is  a  monstrous  infamy, 
built  on  fraud  and  force,  but  too  refined,  too  artificial,  too 
complicated  to  endure." 


256  YASSALL    MORTON. 

"  Bullets  and  cold  steel  are  the  medicines  for  it,"  said 
Morton. 

Here  the  servant  reappeared. 

"  Here,  at  all  events,  you  are  safe.  Stay  with  me  to-day, 
and  I  think  I  can  promise  you  that  in  a  few  days  more  you 
may  stand  on  the  deck  of  an  American  frigate.  If  you  will 
go  with  John,  he  will  help  you  to  get  rid  of  that  villanous 
disguise." 

Morton  followed  the  old  man  into  an  adjoining  room,  where 
he  found  a  bath,  a  suit  of  clothes,  and  the  various  appliances 
of  the  toilet  prepared  for  him.  And  here  he  was  left  alone 
to  indulge  his  reflections  and  revolutionize  his  outward  man. 

Meanwhile  Wentworth  sat  musing  by  the  window :  "  His 
face  haunts  me  ;  and  yet,  for  my  life,  I  cannot  remember 
where  I  have  seen  him  before.  I  would  stake  all  on  his  truth 
and  honor.  That  firm  lip  and  undespairing  eye  are  a  history 
in  themselves.  Strange  —  the  difference  between  man  and 
man.  How  should  I  have  borne  such  suffering  ?  Why,  gone 
mad,  I  suppose,  or  destroyed  myself.  One  sorrow  —  no,  nor 
a  hundred  —  would  never  unman  him,  and  make  him  dream 
away  his  life,  watching  the  sun  rise  and  set,  here  by  the  Lake 
of  Como.  I  scarcely  know  why,  but  my  heart  warms  towards 
him  like  an  old  friend.  Cost  what  it  may,  I  will  not  leave 
him  till  he  is  out  of  danger." 

He  was  still  musing  in  this  strain,  when  Morton  returned, 
a  changed  man  in  person  and  in  mind.  It  seemed  as  if,  in 
casting  off  his  squalid  livery  of  misery  and  peril,  a  burden  of 
care  had  fallen  with  it ;  as  if  the  sullen  cloud  that  had 
brooded  over  him  so  long  had  been  pierced  at  length  by  a 


VASSALL    MORTON.  257 

gladdening  beam  of  sunlight,  and  the  sombre  landscape  were 
smiling  again  with  pristine  light  and  promise.  His  buoyant 
and  defiant  spirit  resumed  its  native  tone  ;  and  a  strange  con 
fidence  sprang  up  within  him,  as  if  a  desperate  crisis  of  his 
destiny  had  been  safely  passed. 

Wentworth  saw  the  change  at  a  glance. 

"  Why,  man,  I  see  freedom  in  your  eye  already.  But  sit 
down  ;  'it's  ill  talking  between  a  full  man  and  a  fasting,'  and 
you  must  be  half  starved." 

Morton  was  so,  in  truth.  He  seated  himself  at  the  table, 
and  addressed  himself  to  the  repast  provided  for  him  with  the 
keenness  of  a  mountain  trapper,  while  bis  entertainer  played 
with  his  knife  and  fork  to  keep  him  in  countenance. 

"  Do  you  know,"  said  Wentworth,  at  length  —  "I  am 
sure  I  have  seen  you  before." 

"  And  I  have  seen  you  —  I  could  swear  to  it ;  and  yet  I 
do  not  know  where." 

"  Were  you  ever  in  England  ?  " 

"  Only  for  a  few  days." 

"  I  was  once  in  America." 

«  When  ? " 

"  In  1839.     I*was  at  Boston  in  March  of  that  year." 

Morton  shook  his  head.  "  I  remember  that  time  perfectly. 
I  was  in  New  Orleans  in  March,  and  afterwards  in  Texas." 

"  From  Boston  1  went  westward  —  up  the  Missouri  and 

r  *. 

out  upon  the  prairies." 

Morton  paused  a  moment  in  doubt ;  then  sprang  to  his 
feet  with  a  joyful  exclamation, — 

"  The  prairies !  Have  you  forgotten  the  Big  Horn  Branch 
22* 


258  VASSALL    MORTON. 

of  the  Yellow  Stone,  and  the  camp  under  the  old  cotton- 
wood  trees ! " 

Wentworth  leaped  up,  and  grasped  both  his  guest's  hands. 

"  Forgotten !  No  ;  I  shall  never  forget  the  morning  when 
you  came  over  to  us  with  that  tall,  half-breed  fellow,  in  a 
Canadian  capote." 

"  Yes,  — Antoine  Le  Rouge." 

"  We  should  have  starved  if  you  had  not  found  us,  and 
perhaps  lost  our  scalps  into  the  bargain." 

"  The  Rickarees  had  made  a  clean  sweep  of  your  horses." 

"  Not  a  hoof  was  left  to  us.  Our  four  Canadians  were 
scared  to  death  ;  I  was  ill ;  not  one  of  us  was  fit  for  service 
but  Ireton  ;  and  we  had  not  three  days'  provision.  If  you 
had  not  given  us  your  spare  mules  and  horses,  and  seen  us 
safe  to  Fort  Cass,  the  wolves  would  have  made  a  supper  of 
some  of  us." 

"  And  do  you  remember,"  said  Morton,  "  after  we  broke  up 
camp  that  morning,  how  the  Rickaree  devils  came  galloping 
at  us  down  the  hill,  and  thought  they  could  ride  over  us, 
and  how  we  fought  them  all  the  forenoon,  lying  on  our  faces 
behind  the  pack  saddles  and  baggage  ?  " 

"  I  remember  it  as  if  it  were  yesterday.  *  I  can  hear  the 
crack  of  the  rifles  now,  and  the  yelling  of  those  bloodthirsty 
vagabonds." 

"  It  is  strange,"  pursued  Wentworth,  "  that  I  did  not  rec 
ognize  you  at  once.  I  have  thought  of  you  a  thousand  times  ; 
but  it  is  eight  years  since  we  met,  and  you  are  very  much 
changed.  Besides  we  were  together  only  two  days.  And 
yet  I  can  hardly  forgive  myself." 


VASSALL    MORTON.  259 

"  Any  wandering  trapper  would  have  done  as  much  for 
you  as  I  did  ;  or,  if  he  had  not,  he  would  have  deserved  a  cud 
gelling.  What  has  become  of  the  young  man,  or  boy,  rather, 
who  was  with  you  ?  " 

"  You  mean  Ireton.     Dead,  poor  fellow  —  dead." 

"  I  am  very  sorry.  He  was  the  coolest  of  us  all  in  the 
fight.  He  had  a  singular  face,  but  a  very  handsome  one,  I 
can  recall  it  distinctly  at  this  moment." 

Went  worth  took  a  miniature  from  a  desk,  opened  it,  and 
placed  it  before  Morton. 

"  These  are  his  features,"  said  the  latter,  "  but  this  is  the 
portrait  of  a  lady." 

"  His  sister  —  his  twin  sister.     Dead  too  !  " 

There  was  a  change,  as  he  spoke,  in  his  voice  and  manner, 
so  marked  that  Morton  forbore  to  pursue  the  subject  farther. 
He  studied  the  picture  in  silence.  It  was  a  young  and  beau 
tiful  face,  delicate,  yet  full  of  fire  ;  and  by  some  subtilty  of 
his  craft,  the  artist  had  given  to  the  eyes  an  expression  which 
reminded  him  of  the  restless  glances  which  he  had  seen  a 
caged  falcon  at  the  Garden  of  Plants  cast  upwards  at  the  sky, 
into  which  he  was  debarred  from  soaring. 

In  a  few  moments,  Wentworth  spoke  in  his  accustomed  tone. 

"  The  point  first  to  be  thought  of,  is  to  get  you  out  of  this 
predicament.  I  have  a  man  who  took  to  his  bed  this  morn 
ing,  and  is  at  present  shaking  in  an  ague  fit.  He  is  of  about 
your  age,  height,  and  complexion  ;  and  by  wearing  his  dress, 
you  could  travel  under  his  passport.  I  am  not  at  all  a  sus 
pected  person,  and  if  my  friend  will  pass  for  a  few  days  as 
my  servant,  I  do  not  doubt  that  we  shall  reach  Genoa  without 
interruption." 


260  VASSALL    MORTOX. 

Morton  warmly  expressed  his  gratitude,  but  protested 
against  Wentworth's  undertaking  the  journey  on  his  account. 

"  O,  I  am  going  to  Genoa  for  my  pleasure,  and  shall  be 
glad  of  your  company.  The  steamer  for  Como  touches  here 
this  afternoon.  '  Dull  not  device  by  coldness  and  delay ; ' 
we  will  go  on  board,  and  be  in  Milan  to-morrow." 

They  conversed  for  an  hour,  when  Morton  withdrew  to  ad 
just  his  new  disguise.  Wentworth  followed  him  with  his 
eye  as  he  disappeared ;  then  sank  into  the  musing  mood 
which  had  grown  habitual  to  him. 

"  When  I  saw  him  last,"  —  so  his  thoughts  shaped  them 
selves,  — "  my  drama  was  opening ;  and  now  it  is  played 
out  —  light  and  darkness,  smiles  and  tears  —  and  the  curtain 
is  dropped  forever.  When  I  saw  him  last,  I  was  gathering 
the  prairie  flowers  and  dedicating  them  to  her,  —  though  she 
did  not  suspect  it,  —  and  dreaming  of  her  by  camp  fires  and 
in  night  watches." 

The  miniature  still  lay  on  the  table.  He  drew  it  towards 
him  and  gazed  on  it  fixedly  :  — 

"  Mine  for  a  space,  and  now  —  gone  —  vanished  like  a 
dream.  You  were  a  meteor  between  earth  and  sky,  with  a 
light  that  flickered  and  blazed  and  darkened,  but  a  warmth 
constant  and  unchanged.  Of  all  who  admired  the  brightness 
of  that  erratic  star,  how  few  could  know  what  gladness  it 
shed  around  it,  what  desolation  it  has  left  behind  !  " 

He  gazed  on  the  picture  till  his  eyes  grew  dim  ;  then  sat 
for  a  few  moments,  listless  and  abstracted  ;  then  rc-K,  with 
an  effort,  and  bent  his  mind  to  the  task  before  him. 


CHAPTER   XLVII. 


0  that  a  man  might  know 

The  end  of  this  day's  business  ere  it  come.  —  Julius  Gxsar. 


THE  diligence  rolled  into  Genoa.  Wentworth  was  in  tho 
cowpe,  and  on  the  top  sat  Morton,  as  his  servant.  They  had 
made  the  journey  without  interruption. 

Morton  reported  himself  to  the  American  consul,  and  told 
his  story.  The  wrath  and  astonishment  of  that  official  were 
great ;  -  but  they  were  as  nothing  to  the  patriotic  fury  of  three 
New  York  dry  goods  importers,  who,  mingling  pleasure  with 
business,  were  just  arrived  from  Paris.  Nothing  was  talked 
of  but  an  immediate  bombardment  of  Trieste,  and  a  probable 
assault  of  Vienna. 

Escaping  as  soon  as  he  could  from  this  demonstration, 
Morton  bade  his  fervid  countrymen  good  morning,  and  went 
out  with  Wentworth,  who  introduced  him  to  his  banker. 
He  learned  from  the  consul  that  a  merchant  brig  was  in 
port,  nearly  ready  to  sail  for  home,  and  gladly  took  passage 
in  her. 

And  now  at  last  he  was  safe ;  and  safety  should  have 
brought  with  it  a  lightening  of  the  spirits,  a  sense  of  relief. 
In  fact,  however,  it  brought  little  or  nothing  of  the  kind. 

(261) 


262  VASSALL    MORTON. 

The  human  mind,  happily,  cannot  well  hold  more  than  one 
crowning  evil  at  a  time.  One  black  thought,  firmly  lodged, 
will  commonly  keep  the  rest  at  bay.  The  fear  of  famine  and 
a  prison  had  left  him  no  leisure  to  plague  himself  with  less 
imminent  mischiefs  ;  but  now,  this  fear  being  ousted,  a  new 
devil  leaped  into  its  empty  seat.  At  the  first  moment  when 
he  could  find  himself  alone,  he  wrote  to  Edith  Leslie,  telling 
her  how  he  had  been  imprisoned,  how,  for  almost  five  wretched 
years,  her  image  had  been  his  constant  friend,  how  he  had 
escaped,  and  how  he  was  hastening  homeward  to  claim  the 
fulfilment  of  her  word.  He  hinted  nothing  of  his  conviction 
that  Vinal  had  been  instrumental  to  his  detention.  He 
began  divided  between  hope  and  fear,  but  as  he  wrote,  a 
foreboding  grew  upon  him  that  she  was  no  longer  living, 
or,  at  least,  no  longer  living  for  him.  The  letter,  despatched 
post  haste,  would  reach  home  a  full  fortnight  before  his  own 
arrival. 

Having  seen  his  friend  in  safety,  Wentworth  set  out  on  his 
return ;  and,  as  they  shook  hands  at  parting,  their  eyes  met 
with  a  look  that  showed  how  clearly  the  two  men  understood 
each  other. 

Wentworth  smiled  as  Morton  tried  to  express  his  gratitude. 

"  You  have  cleared  that  score.  I  do  not  mean  now  the  old 
affair  on  the  Big  Horn.  I  have  been  dreaming,  lately,  and 
you  have  waked  me." 

"  I  should  never  have  imagined  that  you  were  dozing." 

"  Call  it  what  you  will.  The  truth  is,"  added  Wentworth, 
with  some  hesitation,  "an  old  memory  has  been  hanging 


VASSALL    MORTON.  263 

about  me,  and  I  believe  has  made  a  girl  of  me.  But  that  is 
past  and  done.  I  shall  leave  the  Lake  of  ConiOj  There  is  a 
career  for  me  at  home,  and  a  good  one,  if  I  will  but  take  it. 
Come  to  England,  and  you  will  find  me  there." 

Morton  went  with  him  past  the  gates,  and,  with  a  heavy 
heart,  watched  him  on  his  way  northward. 


CHAPTER   XLVIII. 


His  restless  eye 

Glanced  forward  frequently,  as  if  some  ill 
He  dared  not  meet  were  there.  —  Willis. 


AFTEK  some  days'  delay,  the  brig  put  to  sea,  Morton  on 
board.  The  cliffs  behind  Gibraltar  came  in  sight  at  last,  and 
a  fresh  levanter  blew  her  out  like  an  arrow  upon  the  Atlantic. 
They  were  becalmed  off  the  Azores.  The  sea  was  like  glass  ; 
the  turtles  came  up  to  sleep  at  the  top ;  the  tar  melted  out  of 
the  seams  ;  and  as  the  vessel  moved  on  the  long,  lazy  swells, 
the  masts  kept  up-  their  weary  creaking  from  morning  till 
night,  and  from  night  till  morning.  Morton  walked  the  deck 
in  a  fever  of  impatience. 

At  length  an  east  wind  sprang  up,  and  with  studding  sails 
spread  like  wings,  the  brig  ran  before  it,  reeling  like  a  drunken 
sea-gull. 

On  the  forty-first  day,  the  Neversink  heights  rose  on  the 
horizon.  Vessels  innumerable  passed  —  steamers,  merchant 
men,  war  ships.  The  highlands  of  Staten  Island,  with  its 
villages  and  villas,  lay  close  on  their  left,  and  the  Bay  of  New 
York  opened  before  them,  sparkling  in  the  morning  sun,  and 
alive  with  moving  sails.  On  the  right  lay  a  forest  of  masts  ; 
in  front,  the  Castle  lifted  its  ugly  familiar  front ;  and  farther 

on,  the  spire  of  Trinity  towered  over  the  wilderness  of  brick. 

(264) 


VASSALL    MORTON.  265 

Morton  called  a  boat  alongside,  embarked  his  luggage,  and 
went  on  shore.  And,  in  spite  of  that  depression  which  fol 
lows  long  and  deep  excitement,  in  spite  of  the  anxieties  that 
engrossed  him,  he  felt  a  thrill  of  delight  as  his  foot  pressed 
American  soil. 

This  pleasure,  however,  was  short.  The  thought  of  Edith 
Leslie  had  been  so  long  the  solace  of  his  confinement,  that  it 
seemed  to  have  grown  into  a  part  of  himself ;  at  all  events, 
nofy  that  his  doubts  were  on  the  verge  of  decision,  for  good 
or  evil,  it  drove  every  other  thought  from  his  mind.  Reach 
ing  his  hotel,  he  found  that  he  could  not  set  out  for  Boston 
till  the  afternoon ;  and  to  get  rid  of  the  interval,  he  turned 
over  the  Boston  newspapers  in  the  reading  room,  searching 
for  the  mention  of  any  familiar  names.  Here  he  was  more 
successful  than  he  cared  to  be ;  for  he  presently  discovered 
the  name  of  Horace  Vinal,  figuring  in  the  list  of  directors  of 
a  joint  stock  company. 

"  The  hound !  "  muttered  Morton ;  "  so  he  is  alive  yet !  " 

And  leaving  the  hotel,  he  walked  up  the  crowded  sidewalk 
of  Broadway,  in  a  mood  any  thing  but  tranquil. 
23 


CHAPTER   XLIX. 

Affliction  is  enamoured  of  th^  parts, 

And  thou  art  wedded  to  calamity.  —  Romeo  and  Juliet. 

HE  had  not  gone  far,  when  he  became  aware  of  a  footstep 
closely  following  him.  He  was  about  to  look  back,  when  a  - 
little  man  passed  before  him,  glancing  furtively  in  his  face 
with  a  ludicrous  expression  of  doubt,  amazement,  and  curi 
osity.  Morton  at  oncB  recognized  the  features  of  an  odd, 
simple-minded  classmate,  named  Shingles.  "  Charley,"  he 
exclaimed,  "how  do  you  do  ? " 

"  It  is  you,"  cried  Shingles,  with  an  ejaculation  of  profound 
astonishment ;  "  solid  flesh  and  blood  !  "  —  grasping  Morton's 
extended  hand  —  "  and  not  your  ghost.  Why,  we  all  thought 
you  were  dead  !  " 

"  Not  quite,"  said  Morton. 

"  Dead  and  buried,"  repeated  Shingles,  "  off  in  Transylva 
nia,  or  some  such  place." 

"  I  was  buried,  but  they  buried  me  alive." 

Shingles,  who  had  a  taste  for  the  horrible,  took  the  asser 
tion  literally,  and  dilated  his  eyes  like  an  owl  on  the  lookout 
for  a  mouse. 

"  But  how  did  you  manage  to  get  out  ?  " 

"  I  contrived  to  break  loose,  after  a  few  years." 

(266) 


1 


VASSALL    MORTON.  267 

Shingles  stared  in  horror  and  perplexity. 

"Don't  be  frightened,  Charley.  I'm  all  right, — •neither 
ghost  nor  vampire.  But  we  shall  be  pushed  off  the  sidewalk, 
if  we  stand  here." 

"  Come  down  into  Florence's,  then,  and  let  me  hear  about 
it.  Hang  me  if  I  ever  expected  to  see  you  again.  I 
shouldn't  like  to  have  met  you  alone,  at  night,  any  where 
near  a  graveyard.  At  our  last  class  meeting,  we  were  all 
talking  about  you,  and  saying  you  were  a  deused  good  fellow, 
and  what  a  pity  it  was.  And  here  you  are  alive  ;  it  was  all 
for  nothing!" 

"  That's  very  unlucky,"  said  Morton,  as  they  descended 
into  the  restaurant. 

"  By  Jove,"  exclaimed  Shingles,  whose  amazement  was 
still  strong  upon  him,  "  I  was  never  so  much  astonished  in 
my  life  as  when  I  saw  you  just  now.  I  was  coming  out  of  a 
shop,  as  you  passed  along  the  sidewalk.  I  felt  as  if  I  had 
seen  a  spirit.  I  followed  behind  you,  and  wasn't  quite  sure 
it  was  you,  till  I  saw  your  trick  of  rapping  your  cane  against 
the  bricks  as  you  walked  along.  Then  I  said  to  myself,  it's 
he,  or  else  old  Beelzebub,  in  his  likeness.  But  come,  tell  us 
how  it  was.  How  did  you  get  off  alive  ?  " 

Morton  briefly  recounted  his  imprisonment  and  escape, 
interrupted  by  the  wondering  ejaculations  of  his  auditor. 

"Who  would  have  thought,"  exclaimed  Shingles,  "when 
you  and  I  used  to  go  up  to  Elk  Pond,  on  Saturdays,  to  catch 
perch  and  pickerel,  that  you  would  ever  have  been  shut  up  in 
the  dungeon  of  an  Austrian  castle  ?  You  remember  those 
old  times  —  don't  you  ?  " 


268  VASSALL    MORTON. 

"  That  I  do,"  said  Morton. 

"  Do  you  remember  the  old  tavern,  where  we  used  to  lunch, 
and  the  pretty  girl  that  waited  on  the  table  ?  " 

"  The  girl  that  you  raved  about'  all  the  way  home  ?  Yes, 
I  remember." 

"  By  Jove,  to  think  you've  been  shut  up  in  a  dungeon ! 
Well,  I  haven't  any  very  brilliant  account  to  give  of  myself. 
I  began  to  practise  law,  but  I  was  never  meant  for  a  lawyer ; 
so  I  gave  it  up,  and  have  been  ever  since  at  my  father's  old 
place,  just  pottering  about,  you  know.  I  was  born  in  the 
country,  and  brought  up  there,  and  I  mean  to  live  there,  only 
now  and  then  I  come  down  to  New  York,  on  a  bend, — just 
for  a  change." 

"  I  suppose  you  can  tell  me  the  news.  How  are  all  the 
fellows  ?  How  is  Meredith  ?  " 

'4  Very  well,  I  believe.     He  is  living  in  Boston." 

"  Married,  or  single  ?  " 

"  Single.  We  are  not  much  of  a  marrying  class.  Wren 
was  the  first.  Was  that  before  you  went  away,  or  after  ? 
We  voted  to  send  him  a  cradle ;  but  he  did  not  know  how  to 
take  it.  He  thought  we  were  fooling  him,  and  got  quite  an 
gry.  No,  we  are  not  at  all  a  marrying  class,  nor  a  dying 
class  either,  for  that  matter.  There  are  not  more  than  five  or 
six  dead,  and  twelve  or  fourteen  married ;  we  reckoned  them 
up  last  class  meeting." 

"  Vinal  —  what  of  him  ?  " 

"  O,  he's  alive,  and  married,  too." 

Morton  turned  pale.     "  Married  !  —  to  whom  ?  " 

"  Well,  they   say  he's  made  a  first-rate  match.     I   don't 


VASSALL    MORTON.  269 

know  her  myself.  I'm  not  a  party-going  man;  I  never 
was,  you  know.  I  haven't  been  thrown  in  much  with  that 
kind  of  people.  But  they  tell  me  he  couldn't  have  done 
better." 

"  What's  her  name  ?  "  demanded  Morton. 

"Miss  Leslie — Colonel  Leslie's  daughter.  But  what's 
the  matter  ?  Are  you  ill  ?  " 

"  It's  nothing,"  gasped  Morton ;  "  I  had  a  fever  in  prison, 
and  have  never  been  quite  well  since.  I  grow  dizzy,  some 
times." 

"  You  will  grow  dizzy,  with  a  vengeance,  if  you  drink 
wine  in  that  way." 

"  It's  nothing,"  repeated  Morton  ;  "  it  will  be  over  in  a 
minute.  What  were  you  saying  ?  " 

"  About  the  fellows  that  have  married,  —  O,  Vinal,  —  I 
was  saying  that  he  had  just  got  married." 

"  Well,  what  about  it  ?  " 

"  Why,  nothing  particular." 

"  When  was  it  ?  " 

"  Last  month." 

"  Within  a  month  !     Are  you  sure  ?  " 

"  0,  yes.  I  was  in  Boston  myself  at  the  time,  and  heard 
all  about  it.  Her  father  was  ill ;  so  the  marriage  was  private. 
Vinal  is  a  sort  of  fellow  that  somehow  I  never  cottoned  to 
much.  I  don't  think  he's  very  disinterested.  I  like  a  fellow 
that  will  swear  when  he  is  angry,  and  not  keep  close  shut  up, 
like  an  oyster." 

The  tattle  of  his  rustic  companion  was  become  intolerable 
to  Morton.  He  had  received  his  stab,  and  wished  to  hear  no 
23* 


270  VASSALL    MORTON. 

more.  In  a  few  minutes,  he  rose  from  the  table.  "  Charley, 
I  am  sorry  to  leave  you  so  suddenly,  but  I  am  not  well.  The 
fresh  air  and  a  hard  walk  are  all  that  will  set  me  up.  I  shall 
see  you  again." 

"  But  where  are  you  staying  ?  " 

"  At  Blancard's.     Good  morning,  old  fellow." 


CHAPTER    L. 

Fab.    .    .    .     Elleest . 

&v.  Quoi  ? 

Fab.  Marine! 

Sev Ce  coup  de  foudre  est  grand !  —  PolyeucU. 

The  world's  my  oyster,  which  T  with  sword  will  open.  —  Henry  IV. 
Put  money  in  thy  $urse ;  follow  these  wars.  —  Othello. 

MORTOX  walked  down  Broadway  at  a  rapid  pace,  entered 
his  hotel,  mounted  to  his  room,  seated  himself,  rested  his 
forehead  on  his  hand,  and,  with  fixed  eyes  and  compressed 
lips,  remained  in  this  position  for  some  minutes,  motionless 
as  if  carved  out  of  oak.  Then,  rising,  he  paced  the  room, 
buried  his  face  in  his  hands,  and  groaned  with  irrepressible 
anguish.  Suddenly  the  door  was  burst  open,  and  an  Irish 
servant,  apparently  in  a  great  hurry,  bolted  in,  and  tossed  a 
card  on  the  table,  saying  at  the  same  time,  — "  Gen'lman 
down  stairs  wants  to  see  you." 

Morton  broke  into  a  rage,  to  hide  the  traces  of  a  different 
passion. 

"  Why  do  you  come  in  without  knocking  ?  Learn  better 
manners,  or  I  shall  teach  them  to  you." 

"  I  beg  pardon,  sir,"  said  the  servant,  reduced  at  once  to 

(271) 


272  YASSALL    MOETON. 

the  depth  of  obsequiousness,  "  there's  a  gentleman,  sir  —  an 
officer,  sir,  —  would  like  to  see  you,  sir." 

"  An  officer  !  —  I  don't  know  any  officers.  There's  some 
mistake.'* 

"  He  said  Mr.  Morton,  sir.     This  is  his  card,  sir." 

Morton  looked  at  the  card,  and  read  the  name  of  his 
classmate  Rosny. 

"  Very  well.  Ask  the  gentleman  to  come  up.  —  No,  — 
here,"  —  as  the  servant  was  retreating  along  the  passage,  — 
"  where  is  he  ?  " 

"  In  the  reading  room,  sir." 

"  Tell  him  I  will  come  down  in  a  moment." 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  will,  sir." 

Morton  adjusted  his  dress,  strove  to  banish  from  his 
features  all  traces  of  the  emotion  which  had  just  overwhelmed 
him,  went  down,  stairs,  and  met  Rosny  with  an  air  of  as 
much  cordiality  as  if  there  were  nothing  in  his  mind  but  the 
pleasure  of  seeing  an  old  friend.  Rosny,  his  first  welcome 
over,  surveyed  him  from  head  to  foot. 

"  A  good  deal  changed !  Thinner,  —  darker  complexioned, 
decidedly  older.  And  yet  you've  weathered  it  well.  It's  a 
thing  that  I  could  never  stand,  —  to  be  boxed  up  in  four 
stone  walls.  I  would  throttle  the  jailer  first,  and  then  knock 
my  brains  out  against  the  stones." 

"  Did  Shingles  tell  you  of  my  being  here  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  met  him  just  now,  with  his  eyes  bigger  than 
ever.  When  I  saw  him  making  a  dive  at  me  across  the 
street,  among  the  omnibuses  and  carriages,  I  knew  that 
something  extraordinary  was  to  pay." 


YASSALL    MORTON.  273 

• 

"  You  have  changed  your  outward  man,  too,  since  I  saw 
you  last,"  said  Morton,  looking  at  his  companion's  costume, 
which  consisted  of  a  gray  volunteer  uniform. 

"  Yes,  I'm  in  Uncle  Sam's  pay  now.  —  Off  for  Mexico  in 
a  day  or  two  ;  —  revel  in  the  Halls  of  the  Montezumas,  you 
know." 

"  What  rank  do  you  hold  in  the  service,  Dick  ?  " 

"  You'll  please  to  address  me  as  Major  Rosny  ;  that  is,  till 
good  luck  and  the  Mexican  bullets  make  a  colonel  of  me.  — 
I  have  just  dropped  in  to  shake  hands  with  you.  I  have  an 
appointment  to  keep  in  five  minutes.  You  have  nothing 
particular  to  do  to-day  —  have  you  ?  " 

"  Nothing  very  particular,"  said  Morton,  hesitating. 

"  Then  come  and  dine  with  me  at  Delmonico's  at  four 
o'clock.  What !  —  you  don't  mean  to  say  no,  do  you  ?  — 
Is  that  the  Avay  you  treat  your  friends  ?  Come,  I  shall  be 
here  at  four,  precisely.  Au  revoir" 

And,  with  his  usual  celerity  of  motion,  Rosny  left  the 
hotel. 

Morton  slowly  remounted  to  his  room,  locked  the  door 
this  time,  to  keep  out  intruders,  seated  himself,  and  gave 
himself  up  to  his  dark  and  morbid  reveries.  » 

"  God  !  of  what  is  this  world  made  !  Villany  thrives,  and 
innocent  men  are  racked  with  the  pangs  of  hell.  Poverty 
starving  its  victims,  —  luxury  poisoning  them  ;  —  the  passions 
of  tigers  and  the  mean  vices  of  reptiles ;  —  treacherous 
hatred,  faithless  love  ;  —  deceitful  hope,  vain  struggles,  end 
less  suffering,  —  a  hell  of  misery  and  darkness.  A  fair 
sunrise,  to  cheat  the  eye ;  —  then  clouds  and  storms, 


274  VASSALL    MORTON. 

• 

blackness  and  desolation !  To  look  back  over  the  last  five 
years  !  Then  I  was  basking  in  sunshine  ;  and  out  of  that 
brightness  what  a  doom  is  fallen  on  me  !  My  life  —  my 
guiding  star  quenched  in  a  vile  morass  —  lost  forever  in  the 
arms  of  this  accursed  villain  !  " 

Morton  rose  abruptly,  went  to  the  window,  and  stood  look 
ing  out  with  a  fixed  gaze,  wholly  unconscious  of  what  was 
before  him.  In  a  moment  he  turned  again,  and  there  was  a 
wild  and  deadly  light  in  his  eyes.  A  thought  had  struck 
him,  shooting  an  electric  life  through  all  his  veins,  and  kin 
dling  him  into  a  kind  of  fierce  ecstasy.  He  would  go  to 
Vinal,  charge  him  with  his  perfidy,  challenge  him,  and  put 
him  to  death.  He  paced  the  room  in  great  disorder.  A 
resistless  power  seemed  to  have  seized  upon  him,  sweeping 
him  forward  with  the  force  of  a  torrent.  He  clinched  his 
teeth  and  breathed  deeply.  The  thought  of  action  and  of 
vengeance  lighted  up  his  perturbed  and.  gloomy  mind  as  the 
baleful  glare  of  a  conflagration  lights  up  a  stormy  midnight. 
Suddenly  he  stopped,  seated  himself  again,  and  remained  for 
some  minutes  in  violent  mental  conflict.  "  I  thank  God,"  he 
murmured  at  length,  apostrophizing  his  enemy,  "  that  you 
were  not  just  now  within  my  reach.  You  have  ruined  me 
for  this  life  ;  you  shall  not  ruin  me  for  the  next.  Live,  and 
work  out  your  own  destruction." 

He  walked  the  room  again,  calmly  enough,  but  in  great 
dejection.  "  It  may  be,"  he  thought,  "  that  I  am  not  his 
only  victim.  Perhaps  the  same  art  that  snared  me,  has,  by 
some  infernal  machination,  entrapped  her  also.  I  believe  it ; 
—  at  least,  I  will  try  to  believe  it." 


VASSALL    MORTON.  275 

He  looked  from  the  window  upon  the  keen  and  busy 
crowds  passing  below  in  unbroken  streams,  to  and  from  their 
places  of  business  ;  and  his  mind  tinged  them  with  its  own 
moody  coloring. 

"  You  flight  of  human  vultures  !  How  many  of  you  can 
show  lives  governed  by  any  generous  purpose  or  noble 
thought  ?  Behind  how  many  of  those  sharp  and  sallow 
features,  furrowed  with  early  wrinkles,  lies  the  soul  of  a 
man  ?  Desperate  chasers  after  wealth,  which,  when  you 
have  won  it,  you  have  never  been  taught  to  use  ;  —  reckless 
pleasure  hunters,  beguiling  others  that  your  victims  may. 
beguile  in  turn,  and  both  sink  to  perdition  together.  What 
you  win  with  trickery,  you  throw  away  in  vanity  or  debauch. 
The  counting  room  or  the  broker's  board  by  day  ;  —  brandy, 
billiards,  and  the  rendezvous  by  night ;  —  so  you  go,  —  a 
short,  quick  road  ;  —  driving  to  your  doom  with  a  high-pres 
sure  power  of  rapacity,  vain  glory,  and  lust.  Man  !  —  the 
thistledown  of  fortune,  the  shuttlecock  of  passion  ;  —  whirled 
on  to  destruction  by  the  wildfire  in  his  veins,  unless  by 
struggling  and  by  prayer  he  can  keep  the  narrow  adamantine 
track  laid  down  for  his  career  !  " 

In  such  distempered  reflections  he  passed  some  time. 
Even  in  the  darkest  passages  of  his  imprisonment,  his  mind 
had  scarcely  been  shaken  so  far  from  its  habitual  poise. 
Growing  weary  at  length  of  solitude,  he  went  out  of  the 
house ;  and,  avoiding  the  great  thoroughfares,  where  he 
might  perhaps  meet  an  acquaintance,  he  threaded  at  a  rapid 
pace  those  meaner  streets  and  lanes,  where  even  the  best 
balanced  mind  may  find  abundant  food  for  gloomy  meditation. 


276  VASSALL    MORTON. 

From  time  to  time,  as  the  image  of  his  enemy  rose  before 
him,  the  desire  for  vengeance  came  upon  him  afresh,  like  a 
fever  fit.  He  burned  to  seize  Vinal  by  the  throat,  and,  at 
least,  force  him  to  unmask  his  iniquity  to  the  world. 

As  he  was  passing  down  Water  Street,  he  recollected, 
with  some  vexation,  that  Rosny  had  promised  to  call  for  him 
at  four  o'clock,  and  retraced  his  steps  to  the  hotel,  where,  true 
to  the  minute,  that  punctual  adventurer  presently  appeared. 

"  Come,"  said  Rosny ;  "  if  you  are  ready,  we  will  walk 
down  street." 

They  repaired  to  Delmonico's,  where,  in  a  private  room, 
a  sumptuous  repast  had  been  made  ready.  Morton,  over  his 
companion's  claret,  was  obliged  to  recount  the  circumstances 
of  his  imprisonment.  Rosny,  on  his  part,  gave  an  outline  of 
his  own  fortunes  since  they  had  last  met.  He  had  been  once 
or  twice  on  the  point  of  very  considerable  success,  but  his 
vaulting  ambition  had  always  overleaped  itself,  and  by  too 
great  eagerness  and  grasping  at  too  much,  he  had  repeatedly- 
failed  of  his  prize,  only,  however,  to  rally  after  every  reverse 
with  undiminished  confidence  and  spirit.  Such,  at  least, 
we're  the  conclusions  which  Morton  drew  from  his  compan 
ion's  somewhat  inflated  account  of  himself. 

After  the  cloth  had  been  removed,  Rosny  bit  off  the  end 
of  a  cigar,  lighted  it,  puffed  at  it  two  or  three  times,  and 
then,  holding  it  between  his  fingers,  went  on  with  an  harangue 
which  the  operations  of  the  waiter  had  interrupted. 

"  I  tell  you,  these  are  great  times  that  we  live  in.  The 
world  has  seen  nothing  like  them  since  the  days  of  Columbus 
and  Cortes.  These  are  the  times  and  this  is  the  country  for 


VASSALL    MORTON.  277 

a  man  of  merit  to  thrive  in.  Let  him  identify  himself  with 
the  progressive  movements  of  the  age,  —  yes,  faith,  let  him 
be  a  leader  of  them,  —  and  there's  nothing  tog  large  for  him 
to  hope  for.  Why,  sir,  the  day  is  not  far  off,  when  the  stars 
and  stripes  will  be  seen  from  Hudson's  Bay  to  Panama. 
Cuba  will  come  next ;  Brazil  next.  Lord  knows  where  we 
shall  stop.  There's  a  field  for  a  man  of  ability  and  pluck  !  " 

Morton  smiled.  Rosny  relighted  his  cigar,  which,  in  the 
fervor  of  his  declamation,  he  had  allowed  to  go  out,  gave  a 
vigorous  whiff  or  two,  and  proceeded. 

"  We  have  just  lost  a  splendid  chance.  I  did  flatter  my 
self  that  there  was  going  to  be  a  row  with  England,  on  the 
Oregon  question  ;  but  it  was  a  flash  in  the  pan  ;  it  all  ended 
in  smoke." 

"  Why  do  you  want  to  fight  with  John  Bull  ?  "  asked 
Morton. 

"  For  two  good  reasons.  In  the  first  place,  I  hate  him.  I 
hate  him  in  right  of  my  French  ancestors,  and  I  hate  him  as 
a  true  American  democrat.  Then,  over  and  above  all  that,  a 
war  with  the  English  would  be  the  making  of  me.  I  should 
rise  then.  I  would  be  their  Hannibal.  But  now  we  have 
nothing  better  to  do  than  giving  fits  to  these  yellow  Mexican 
vagabonds." 

"  A  shabby  employment,"  said  Morton,  "  and  yet  I  think  I 
should  like  it." 

"  You  would,  ey  ?  —  then  go  with  me  to  Mexico." 

"  It's  a  temptation,"  said  Morton,  his  eyes  lighted  with  a 
sudden  gleam,  —  "  I  am  in  a  mood  for  any  thing,  I  do  not 
care  what." 

24 


278  VASSALL    MORTON". 

"  I  knew  there  was  something  ailing  you,"  said  Rosny ; 
"  why,  you  have  had  no  appetite.  You've  lost  all  your 
spirits.  Has  any  thing  happened  ?  Are  you  ill  ?  " 

"  Nothing  to  speak  of.     I  am  well  enough  in  health." 

"  Well,  come  with  me  to  Mexico.  When  a  man  is  under 
a  cloud,  he  always  makes  the  better  soldier  for  it.  If  you 
have  had  bad  luck,  why,  you  can  fight  like  a  Trojan." 

"  I  could  storm  Hell  Gates  to-day,"  exclaimed  Morton, 
giving  a  momentary  vent  to  his  long  pent  up  emotion. 

"  Good !  I  always  knew  that  there  was  stuff  in  you, 
though  you  are  worth  half  a  million.  It  isn't  that,  though 

—  is  it  ?     You  haven't  lost  property  —  have  you  ?  " 

"  Not  that  I  know.  Never  mind,  Dick  ;  every  man  has 
his  little  vexations,  sometimes,  and  is  entitled  to  the  privilege 
of  swearing  at  them." 

"  Well,  I  am  not  the  man  to  pry  into  your  private  affairs. 
Come  with  me  to  Mexico.  I  can  promise  you  a  captain's 
commission,  —  perhaps  I  can  get  you  a  major's.  I  am  not  a 
cipher  in  the  democratic  party,  I'd  have  you  know,  though  I 
am  not  yet  what  I  shall  be  soon.  I  helped  Polk  to  his 
election,  and  my  word  will  go  for  something.  But,  pshaw ! 

—  what  am  I  talking  about  ?     With  your  money,  and  a  little 
management,  you  can  get  any  thing  you  want." 

"  I  have  more  than  half  a  mind,"  said  Morton,  hesitating  ; 
"  but,  no,  —  I  won't  go." 

"  Pshaw,  man  !  You  don't  know  what  you  are  saying. 
You  don't  know  what  chances  you  are  throwing  away.  Look 
at  it.  It  isn't  the  military  fame,  —  the  glorification  in  the 
newspapers,  —  seeing  pictures  of  yourself  in  the  shop  win- 


VASSALL   MORTON.  279 

dows,  charging  full  tilt  among  the  Mexicans,  and  all  that. 
You  can  take  that  for  what  it's  worth.  Tastes  differ  in  such 
matters.  But,  I  tell  you,  the  men  who  distinguish  themselves 
in  Mexico  are  going  to  carry  all  before  them  in  the  political 
world.  The  people  will  go  for  them,  neck  or  nothing.  I 
know  what  our  enlightened  democracy  is  made  of."  —  Here  a 
slight  grin  flickered  for  an  instant  about  the  corners  of  his 
mouth ;  but  he  grew  serious  again  at  once.  —  "  Yes,  sir,  a 
new  world  is  going  to  begin.  The  old  incumbents  —  Web 
ster,  Clay,  Calhoun,  and  the  rest  —  will  pass  off  the  stage, 
before  long,  and  make  room  for  younger  men  —  men  who 
will  keep  up  with  the  times.  Then  will  be  our  chance  !  Put 
brass  in  your  forehead,  —  you  have  money  enough  in  your 
purse  already,  —  get  a  halo  of  Mexican  glory  round  your 
head,  —  and  you  will  shoot  up  like  a  rocket.  First  go  to  the 
war,  then  dive  into  politics,  and  you  and  I  will  be  the  biggest 
frogs  in  the  puddle." 

"  There's  a  fallacy  in  your  conclusions,"  said  Morton ; 
"  the  officers  of  rank,  the  generals  and  colonels,  will  carry  off 
the  glory  ;  and  we  shall  have  nothing  but  the  blows." 

"  The  Mexican  bullets  will  make  that  all  right.  I  tell  you, 
they  are  going  to  fly  like  hail.  They  will  dock  off  the  heads 
above  us,  and  make  a  clear  path  for  us  to  mount  by." 

"  Suppose  that  they  should  hit  the  wrong  man,"  suggested 
Morton. 

"  Pshaw  !  "  exclaimed  Rosny,  "  we  won't  look  at  the 
matter  in  that  light." 

There  was  a  momentary  pause. 

"  Now's  your  time,"  urged  Rosny.     "  Come,  say  the  word." 


280  VASSALL    MORTON. 

Morton  paced  the  room  with  knit  brows  and  lips  pressed 
together. 

"  Glory,"  —  exclaimed  his  military  friend,  summing  up  the 
advantages  of  a  Mexican  campaign,  —  "  glory,  — preferment, 
—  life,  of  the  fastest  kind,  —  what  more  would  you  have  ?  " 

Morton  had  a  strong  native  thirst  for  adventure,  and  a  pen 
chant  for  military  exploit.  In  his  present  frame  of  mind,  he 
felt  violently  impelled  to  cut  loose  from  all  his  old  ideas  and 
scruples,  and  launch  at  once  upon  a  new  life,  fresh,  unshac 
kled,  and  reckless,  —  to  plunge  headlong  into  the  tumult  of 
the  active  world ;  fight  its  battles,  run  its  races,  give  and 
take  its  blows,  strain  after  its  prizes,  —  forget  the  past  and 
all  its  associations  in  the  fever  of  the  present.  Mexico  rose 
before  his  thoughts  —  snowy  volcanoes,  and  tropical  forests  ; 
the  cocoa,  the  palm,  and  the  cactus  ;  bastioned  cities  and 
intrenched  heights  ;  the  rush  and  din  of  battle  ;  war  with  its 
fierce  excitements  and  unbounded  license.  To  his  disordered 
mood,  the  scene  had  fascinations  almost  resistless,  and  he 
burned  to  play  his  part  in  the  fiery  drama. 

"  And  why  not  ?  "  —  so  his  thoughts  ran,  —  "  why  not 
obey  what  fate  and  nature  dictate  ?  Calm,  and  peace,  and 
happiness,  —  farewell  to  them !  That  stake  is  played  and 
lost.  I  am  no  more  fit  now  for  domestic  life  than  a  prairie 
wolf.  I  should  answer  better  for  an  Ishmaelite  or  a  Pawnee. 
Deus  vult.  Why  should  I  fly  in  the  face  of  Providence  ?  " 

Rosny,  his  uniform  coat  half  unbuttoned  for  the  sake  of  ease, 
sat  lolling  back  in  his  chair,  puffing  wreaths  of  cigar  smoke 
from  his  lips,  eying  Morton  as  he  paced  the  room,  and  throwing 
out,  from  time  to  time,  a  word  of  encouragement  to  stimulate 


YASSALL    MOETOl*.  281 

his  resolution.  He  was  about  to  lose  all  patience  at  his  com 
panion's  pertinacious  silence,  when  the  latter  stopped,  and 
turned  towards  him  with  the  air  of  one  whose  mind  is 
made  up. 

"  Dick,"  said  Morton,  <'  when  I  was  in  college,  I  laid  down 
my  plan  of  life,  and  adopted  one  maxim  —  to  which  I  mean 
to  hold  fast." 

"  Well,  what  was  that  ?  "  demanded  the  impatient  Rosny. 

"  Never  to  abandon  an  enterprise  once  begun ;  to  push  on 
till  the  point  is  gained,  in  spite  of  pain,  delay,  danger,  disap 
pointment,  —  any  thing." 

"  Good,  so  far.     What  next  ?  " 

"  Some  years  ago,  I  entered  upon  certain  plans,  which 
have  not  yet  been  accomplished.  I  have  been  interrupted, 
balked,  kicked  and  cuffed  by  fortune,  till  I  am  more  than  half 
disgusted  with  the  world.  But  I  mean  still  to  take  up  the 
broken  thread  where  I  left  it,  and  carry  it  forward  as  before." 

"  The  moral  of  that  is,  I  suppose,  that  you  won't  go  to 
Mexico."  , 

"  Precisely." 

"Well,  I  shan't  try  to  debate  the  matter  with  you.  I 
know  you  of  old.  When  your  foot  is  once  down,  it's  useless 
for  me  to  try  to  make  you  lift  it  up  again.  But  remember 
what  I  say,  —  you  will  repent  not  taking  my  advice." 

Rosny  finished  his  cigar,  and  they  left  the  restaurant 
together.  On  their  way  up  the  street,  they  stopped  at  a 
recruiting  office.  "  Captain  Rumbold,  my  friend  Mr.  Mor 
ton,"  said  Rosny,  who  soon  after,  however,  entered  into  an 
earnest  conversation  with  the  officer  upon  some  affair  of 
24* 


282  VASSALL    MORTON. 

business,  leaving  Morton  at  leisure  to  observe  six  or  eight 
volunteers,  who  were  about  to  be  sent  to  Governor's  Island, 
in  charge  of  a  sergeant. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  our  boys  ?  "  asked  Rosny,  casting 
a  comical  look  at  Morton,  as  they  went  down  stairs. 

"  I  never  saw  such  a  gang  of  tobacco-chewing,  soap-locked 
rascals." 

"  Food  for  powder,"  said  Rosny,  —  "  they'll  fill  a  ditch  as 
well  as  better.  The  country  needs  a  little  blood-letting. 
These  fellows  are  not  like  Falstaff's,  though.  They  will 
fight.  Not  a  man  of  them  but  will  whip  his  weight  in 
wildcats." 


CHAPTER   LI. 

A  raconter  ses  maux,  sou  vent  on  les  soulage.  — Pdyeucte. 

"  Do  you  remember  Buckland  ? "  asked  Rosny,  as  they 
walked  up  Broadway. 

"  The  Virginian  ?     Yes,  perfectly." 

"  There  he  is." 

Morton,  following  the  direction  of  his  companion's  eye, 
saw,  a  little  in  advance,  a  tall  man,  slenderly  but  gracefully 
formed,  walking  slowly,  with  a  listless  air,  as  if  but  half  con 
scious  of  what  was  going  on  around  him.  They  checked 
their  pace,  to  avoid  overtaking  him. 

"  Poor  fellow !  "  said  Rosny  ;  "  he's  in  a  bad  way." 

"  I  am  sorry  to  hear  it.  He  was  a  lively,  pleasant  fellow 
when  I  knew  him,  —  very  fond  of  the  society  of  ladies." 

"  That's  all  over  now.  He  has  been  very  dissipated  for 
the  last  two  or  three  years,  and  is  broken  down  completely, 
body  and  mind.  It's  a  great  pity.  I  am  very  sorry  for  him," 
said  Rosny,  in  whom,  notwithstanding  his  restless  ambition, 
there  was  a  vein  of  warm  and  kindly  feeling. 

"  Is  he  living  in  New  York  ?  " 

"  Yes,  he  has  been  here  ever  since  leaving  college.  He 
began  to  practise  as  a  lawyer.  It's  much  he  ever  did  or  ever 
will  do  at  the  law  !  There  was  never  any  go-ahead  in  him  — 

(283) 


284  V'ASSALL    MOETON. 

no  energy,  no  decision  —  and  lie  does  nothing  now,  but  read 
a  little,  and  lounge  about,  in  a  moody, -abstracted  way,  with 
his  wits  in  the  clouds.  Get  him  into  good  company,  and 
wind  him  up  with  a  glass  of  brandy,  and  he  is  himself  again 
for  a  while,  —  tells  a  story  and  sings  a  song  as  he  used  to  do, 
• — but  it  is  soon  over.  Do  you  want  to  speak  to  him?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Come  on,  then.  How  are  you,  Buckland  ?  Here's  an 
old  friend,  redivivus." 

Hearing  himself  thus  accosted,  Buckland  turned  towards 
the  speaker  a  face  which,  though  pale  and  sallow,  was  still 
handsome.  His  dress,  contrary  to  his  former  habit,  was  care 
less  and  negligent ;  and,  though  he  could  not  have  been  more 
than  thirty,  a  few  gray  hairs  had  begun  to  mingle  with  his 
long,  black  moustache.  Changed  as  he  was,  he  had  that  air 
of  quiet  and  graceful  courtesy  which  can  only  be  acquired  by 
habitual  intercourse  with  polished  society  in  early  life  ;  and 
Morton  saw  in  him  the  melancholy  wreck  of  a  highly-bred 
gentleman. 

When  the  first  surprise  of  the  meeting  was  over,  Rosny 
related  the  story  of  Morton's  imprisonment  to  the  wondering 
ear  of  Buckland.  Having  urgent  business  on  his  hands,  he 
soon  after  took  leave  of  his  two  companions.  Morton  and 
Buckland,  after  strolling  for  a  time  up  and  down  Broadway, 
entered  the  restaurant  attached  to  Blancard's  hotel,  and  took 
a  table  in  a  remote  corner  of  the  room,  which  was  nearly 
empty. 

Buckland  was,  as  Rosny  had  described  him,  moody  and 
abstracted,  often  seeming  at  a  loss  to  collect  his  thoughts. 


YASSALL    MORTON.  285 

He  sipped  his  chocolate  in  silence,  and,  even  when  spoken  to, 
sometimes  returned  no  answer.  Morton,  in  little  better  spir 
its  than  his  companion,  sat  leaning  his  forehead  dejectedly  on 
his  hand. 

"  I  am  sorry,"  said  Buckland,  after  one  of  his  silent  fits, 
"  to  be  so  wretched  a  companion ;  but  I  am  not  the  man  I 
used  to  be." 

"  We  are  but  a  melancholy  pair,"  replied  Morton. 

"  I  saw  from  the  first  that  you  were  very  much  out  of 
spirits,  —  not  at  all  what  one  would  expect  a  man  to  be  who 
had  just  escaped  from  sufferings  like  yours.  There  is  some 
trouble  on  your  mind." 

Morton  was  fatigued  and  sick  at  heart.  He  had  practised 
self-control  till  he  was  tired-  of  it ;  and  he  allowed  a  shade 
of  emotion  to  pass  across  his  face. 

"  There  is  a  woman  in  it,"  said  Buckland,  regarding  him 
with  a  scrutinizing  eye. 

"  Why  do  you  say  that  ?  "  demanded  Morton,  startled  and 
dismayed  at  this  home  thrust. 

"  Are  not  women  the  source  of  nine  tenths  of  our  suffer 
ings?  "  replied  Buckland/  "  The  world  is  a  huge,  clashing, 
jangling,  disjointed  piece  of  mechanism,  and  they  are  the 
authors  of  its  worst  disorder." 

"Sometimes,"  said  Morton,  "men  will  blame  women  for 
sufferings  which  they  might,  with  better  justice,  lay  at  their 
own  doors." 

Buckland  raised  his  head  quickly,  and  looked  in  his  com 
panion's  face.  "  It  may  be  so,"  he  said,  after  a  moment's 
pause.  "  Perhaps  you  are  right,  —  perhaps  you  are  right. 


286  TASSALL    MORTON. 

But,  let  that  be  as  it  will,  there  are  no  miseries  in  life  to 
match  those  which  spring  out  of  the  relation  of  the  sexes." 

Morton,  for  reasons  of  his  own,  did  not  care  to  pursue  the 
subject,  and  his  companion  relapsed  into  his  former  silence. 
After  a  time,  they  went  into  the  smoking  room,  where  Buck- 
land  lighted  a  cigar.  Morton  observed  that,  as  he  did  so,  his 
fingers  trembled  in  a  manner  which  showed  that  his  whole 
nervous  system  was  shattered  and  unstrung. 

"  I  would  not  advise  you  to  smoke  much,"  said  Morton ; 
"  you  have  not  the  constitution  to  bear  it." 

Buckland  smiled  bitterly.  He  had  grown  reckless  whether 
he  injured  himself  or  not. 

They  seated  themselves  near  the  window ;  but  Buckland 
soon  grew  uneasy,  alternately  looking  at  his  watch  and  gaz 
ing  into  the  street.  At  length  he  rose,  and  asked  Morton  to 
walk  out  with  him.  The  latter,  on  the  principle  that  misery 
loves  company,  readily  complied  ;  and  they  went  down  Broad 
way  nearly  to  the  Bowling  Green.  Here  Buckland  turned, 
and  they  retraced  their  steps  to  within  a  few  squares  of  the 
Astor  House.  This  they  repeated  several  times,  Morton's 
companion  constantly  resisting  evety  movement  on  his  part  to 
vary  in  the  least  the  course  of  their  promenade.  While  their 
walk  was  up  the  street,  Buckland,  though  evidently  restless 
and  uneasy,  had  the  same  abstracted  air  as  before  ;  but  when 
they  moved  in  the  opposite  direction,  his  whole  manner 
changed,  and  he  seemed  anxiously  on  the  watch,  as  if  for 
some  person  whom  he  expected  every  moment  to  meet.  It 
was  about  eight  in  the  evening.  The  street  was  brilliant  with 
gas ;  crowds  of  people,  men  and  women,  were  moving  along 


YASSALL    MOKTON.  287 

the  sidewalk ;  and  upon  each  group,  as  it  approached,  Buck- 
land  bent  a  gaze  of  eager  scrutiny. 

They  were  passing  a  large  bookstore,  when  Morton  felt 
his  companion  suddenly  press  the  -arm  on  which  he  was  lean 
ing.  Hastily  stepping  aside,  and  dragging  Morton  with  him, 
he  ensconced  himself  behind  the  board  on  which  the  book 
seller  pasted  his  advertising  placards,  which  partially  con 
cealed  him,  and,  together  with  the  projection  over  the  shop 
door,  screened  him  from  the  light  of  the  neighboring  gas 
lamp.  Here  he  stood  motionless,  his  eyes  riveted  on  some 
approaching  object.  Following  the  direction  of  his  gaze, 
Morton  saw  a  tall  man  in  the  uniform  of  an  army  officer  of 
rank,  and,  leaning  on  his  arm,  a  light  and  delicate  female 
figure,  elegantly,  but  not  showily  dressed.  They  were  close 
at  hand  when  he  discovered  them,  and  in  a  moment  they  had 
passed  on  under  the  glare  of  the  lamp,  and  mingled  with  the 
throng  beyond ;  but  Morton  retained  a  vivid  impression  of 
features  beautifully  moulded,  and  a  pair  of  restless  dark  eyes, 
roving  from  side  to  side  with  piercing,  yet  furtive  glances. 

Buckland,  stepping  from  his  retreat,  made  a  hesitating,  for 
ward  movement,  as  if  undecided  whether  to  follow  them  or 
not.  He  stopped  with  a  kind  of  suppressed  groan,  and  tak 
ing  Morton's  arm  again,  moved  slowly  with  him  down  the 
street.  Two  or  three  times,  Morton  spoke  to  him,  but  he 
seemed  not  to  hear,  or,  at  best,  answered  in  monosyllables, 
with  an  absent  air.  When  they  reached  the  hotel,  then  re 
cently  established  on  the  European  plan,  near  the  Bowling 
Green,  Buckland  entered,  called  for  brandy,  and,  his  compan 
ion  declining  to  join  him,  hastily  drank  the  liquor  with  the 


288  VASSALL    MORTON. 

same  trembling  hand  which  Morton  had  before  remarked. 
On  leaving  the  house,  they  continued  their  walk  downward 
till  they  reached  the  Battery.  And  as  they  entered  the  shaded 
walks  of  that  promenade,  the  moon  was  shining  on  the  trees, 
and  on  the  quiet  waters  of  the  adjacent  bay. 

"You  must  think  very  strangely  of  me,"  said  Buckland, 
at  length  breaking  his  long  silence  ;  "  in  fact,  I  scarcely 
know  myself.  I  am  a  changed  man,  —  a  lost  and  broken 
man,  body  and  soul,  —  a  sea-weed  drifting  helplessly  on  the 
water." 

"  You  take  too  dark  a  view,"  said  Morton,  greatly  moved ; 
"  there  is  good  hope  for  you  yet,  if  you  will  not  fling  it  away." 

Buckland  shook  his  head.  "  I  wish  I  had  been  born  such 
a  man  as  Rosny.  He  is  a  practical  man  of  the  world,  always 
in  pursuit  of  something,  with  nothing  to  excite  or  trouble 
him  but  the  success  or  failure  of  his  schemes.  He  cannot 
understand  my  feelings.  Yes,  I  wish  to  Heaven  I  had  been 
born  a  practical,  hard-headed  man,  —  such,  for  instance,  as 
your  cool,  common  sense  Yankees.  What  do  they  know  or 
care  for  the  troubles  that  are  wearing  me  away  by  inches  ?  " 

"  Buckland,"  said  Morton,  "  your  nerves  are  very  much 
weakened  and  disordered,  and  particular  troubles  weigh  upon 
and  engross  you,  as  they  could  not  if  you  were  well.  What 
you  most  need  is  a  good  physician." 

"  '  Could  he  minister  to  a  mind  diseased  ? '  Come,  sit  d^wn 
here  —  on  this  bench.  Perhaps  you  have  never  felt  —  I  hope 
you  have  never  had  occasion  to  feel  —  impelled  to  relieve 
some  torment  pressing  on  your  mind,  by  telling  it  to  a  friend. 
Genuine  friends  are  rare.  When  one  meets  them,  he  knows 


VASSALL   MOHTON.  289 

them  by  instinct.  I  need  not  fear  you  ;  you  will  not  laugh 
at  me  to  yourself,  and  tell  me,  as  some  others  do,  that  a  man 
of  force  and  energy  would  fling  off  an  affair  like  mine,  and 
not  suffer  it  to  weigh  upon  him  like  a  nightmare." 

"  When  you  have  recovered  your  health,  perhaps  I  may 
tell  you  so ;  but  not  till  then." 

"  I  am  like  the  Ancient  Mariner,"  continued  Buckland, 
with  a  faint  smile  ;  "  when  I  find  the  man  who  must  hear  my 
story,  I  know  him  the  moment  I  see  his  face.  Your  good 
sense  will  tell  you  that  I  have  been  a  knave  and  a  fool ;  but 
your  good  heart  will  prevent  your  showing  me  that  you 
think  so." 

Morton  looked  with  deep  compassion  on  his  old  comrade, 
and  wondered  what  follies  or  misfortunes  could  have  sunk  his 
former  gallant  spirit  so  far.  In  his  weakened  and  depressed 
condition,  Buckland  seemed  to  lean  for  support  on  his  friend's 
firmer  and  better  governed  nature,  and  to  draw  strength  from 
the  contact. 

"  After  all,"  he  said  in  a  livelier  tone,  "  what  right  have  I 
to  bore  you  with  this  story  of  mine  ?  " 

"  Any  thing  that  you  are  willing  to  tell,"  answered  Mor 
ton,  "  I  shall  be  glad  to  hear." 
25 


CHAPTER    LI  I. 

On  me  laisse  tout  croire ;  on  fait  gloire  de  tout ; 

Et  cependant  mon  cceur  est  encore  assez  lache 

Pour  ne  pouvoir  briser  la  chaine  qui  1'attache.  —  Le  Misanthrope. 

11 1  HAD  an  old  friend,"  Buckland  began,  with  some  glim 
mering  of  his  former  vivacity,  —  "  De  Ruyter,  —  I  don't 
think  you  ever  knew  him.  He  was  the  representative  of  a 
family  great  in  its  day  and  generation,  but  broken  in  fortune, 
and  without  means  to  support  its  pretensions.  This  did  not 
at  all  tend  to  diminish  their  pride,  —  precisely  of  that  kind 
which  goeth  before  destruction.  De  Ruyter  was  a  good  fel 
low,  however,  and,  if  he  had  had  twenty  thousand  a  year,  he 
would  have  spent  it  all.  One  summer,  four  years  ago,  he 
went  with  his  child  —  his  wife  had  died  the  year  before  — 
and  his  two  sisters  to  spend  a  few  weeks  at  a  quiet  little 
watering-place  on  the  Jersey  shore,  frequented  by  people  of 
good  standing,  but  not  fashionably  inclined.  De  Ruyter 
praised  the  sporting  in  the  neighborhood,  and  persuaded  me 
to  go  with  him. 

"  His  sisters  were  very  agreeable  women,  —  cultivated 
and  lively,  but  proud  as  Lucifer,  and  desperately  exclusive. 
A  nouveau  riche  was,  in  their  eyes,  equivalent  to  every 
thing  that  is  odious  and  detestable  ;  and  to  call  a  man  a 
parvenu  was  to  steep  him  in  infamy  forever.  The  men  at 

(290) 


VASSALL    MORTON.  291 

the  house  were,  for  the  most  part,  of  no  great  account—— 
chiefly  old  bachelors,  or  sober  family  men  run  to  seed,  with  a 
number  of  awkward  young  boobies  not  yet  in  bloom.  The 
two  ladies  liked  the  company  of  a  lazy  fellow  like  me,  a  but 
terfly  of  society,  with  the  poets,  at  least  the  sentimental  ones, 
on  my  tongue's  end,  and  the  latest  advices  from  the  fashion 
able  world.  I  staid  there  a  week,  and  when  that  was  over 
they  persuaded  me  to  stay  another. 

"  On  the  day  after,  there  was  a  fresh  arrival,  —  a  gentleman 
from  Philadelphia,  with  his  sister  and  his  daughter.  He 
only  remained  for  the  night,  and  went  away  in  the  morning, 
leaving  the  ladies  behind.  The  sister  was  a  starched  old  per 
son,  —  a  sort  of  purblind  duenna,  with  grizzled  hair,  gold 
spectacles,  and  cap.  The  daughter  I  need  not  describe,  for 
you  saw  her  half  an  hour  ago. 

"  Her  family  was  good  enough  ;  her  father  a  lawyer  in  Phil 
adelphia.  She  was  well  educated  —  played  admirably,  and 
spoke  excellent  French  and  Italian.  How  much  or  how  little 
she  had  frequented  cultivated  society,  I  do  not  know, — her 
own  assertions  went  for  nothing  ;  but  she  had  the  utmost 
ease  and  grace  of  manner,  and .  an  invincible  self-possession. 
Her  ruling  passion  was  a  compound  of  vanity  and  pride,  an 
insatiable  craving  for  admiration  and  power.  Whatever  as 
sociates  she  happened  to  be  among,  nothing  satisfied  her  but 
to  be  the  cynosure  of  all  eyes,  the  centre  of  all  influence.  I 
have  known  women  enough,  —women  of  all  kinds,  good,  bad, 
and  indifferent ;  but  such  a  one  as  she  I  never  met  but  once.  I 
shall  not  soon  forget  the  evening  when  I  first  saw  her,  seated 
opposite  me  at  the  tea  table.  She  was  a  small,  light  figure, 


29.2  VASSALL    MORTON. 

—  as  you  saw  her  just  now,  —  the  features,  perhaps,  a  trifle 
too  large.  I  never  recall  her,  as  she  appeared  at  that  time, 
without  thinking  of  Byron's  description  of  one  of  his  mis 
chief-making  heroines :  — 

"  '  Her  form  had  all  the  softness  of  her  sex, 

Her  features  all  the  sweetness  of  the  devil, 
When  he  put  on  the  cherub  to  perplex 
Eve,  and  paved  —  God  knows  how  —  the  road  to  evil.' 

"  She  was  utterly  unscrupulous.  The  depth  of  her  artifice 
was  unfathomable.  She  soon  became  the  moving  spirit  of 
that  little  cockney  watering-place  —  some  admiring  her, 
some  hating  her,  some  desperately  smitten  with  her.  I  can 
see  through  her  manoeuvres  now,  but  then  I  was  blind  as 
a  mole.  She  understood  every  body  about  her,  and  held 
out  to  each  the  kind  of  bait  which  was  most  likely  to 
attract  him.  There  was  a  sort  of  dilettante  there  whose 
heart  she  won  by  talking  to  him  of  the  Italian  poets,  which, 
by  the  way,  she  really  loved,  for  there  was  a  dash  of  genius 
in  her.  She  aimed  to  impress  each  one  with  the  idea  that 
in  her  heart  she  liked  him  better  than  any  one  else  ;  and  it 
was  her  game  to  appear  on  all  occasions  perfectly  impulsive 
and  spontaneous,  while,  in  fact,  every  look,  word,  or  act  of 
hers  had  an  object  in  it.  In  short,  she  was  an  accomplished 
actress ;  and,  had  her  figure  J^en  more  commanding,  she 
might  have  rivalled  Rachel  on*he  stage.  No  two  people 
were  exactly  agreed  .in  opinion  concerning  her;  but  all  —  I 
mean  all  the  men  —  thought  her  excessively  interesting  ;  and 
I  remember  that  two  young  collegians  had  nearly  fought  a 


VASSA.LL    MORTON.  293 

duel  about  her,  each  thinking  that  she  was  in  love  with  him. 
Nothing  delighted  her  more  than  to  become  the  occasion  of 
the  jealousy  of  married  women  towards  their  husbands,  — 
nothing,  that  is,  except  the  still  greater  delight  of  fascinating 
a  certain  young  New  Yorker  who  had  come  to  the  house  on 
a  visit  to  his  betrothed. 

"  For  some  time  every  one  supposed  her  to  be  unmarried. 
She  did  her  best,  indeed,  to  encourage  the  idea,  since 
she  thus  gained  to  herself  more  notice  and  more  marked 
attentions.  At  length,  to  the  astonishment  of  every  body, 
it  came  out  that  she  had  been,  for  more  than  a  year, 
married  to  a  cousin  of  her  own,  a  weak  and  imbecile  young 
ster,  as  I  afterwards  learned,  who  was  then  absent  on  an 
East  India  voyage,  and  who,  happily  for  himself,  has  since 
died. 

"  I  said  that  all  the  men  in  the  house  were  interested  in  her  ; 
but  you  should  have  seen  the  commotion  she  raised  among 
the  women !  There  were  three  or  four  simple  girls  about 
her  who  admired  her,  and  were  her  devoted  instruments  ;  but 
with  the  rest  she  was  at  sword's  point.  There  were  a 
thousand  ways  in  which  they  and  she  could  come  into  col 
lision  ;  and,  of  course,  they  soon  found  her  out,  while  the 
men  remained  in  the  dark.  If  they  were  handsome  and  at 
tractive,  she  hated  them ;  and  if  they  would  not  conform  to 
her  will,  she  could  never  forgive  it.  The  disputes,  the  jars, 
the  jealousies,  the  backbiting!,  the  tricks  and  stratagems  of 
female  warfare  that  I  have  seen  in  that  house,  and  all  of  her 
raising  !  She  was  a  dangerous  enemy.  Her  tongue  could 
sting  like  a  wasp  ;  and  all  the  while  she  would  smile  on  her 
25* 


294  VASSALL   MORTON. 

victim  as  if  she  were  reporting  some  agreeable  compliment. 
She  had  a  satanic  dexterity  in  dealing  out  her  stabs,  always 
choosing  the  time,  place,  and  company,  where  they  would  tell 
with  the  sharpest  effect. 

"  With  all  her  insincerity,  there  was  still  a  tincture  of  real 
ity  in  her.  Her  passions  and  emotions  were  strong  ;  and  she 
was  so  addicted  to  falsehood,  that  I  am  confident  she  did  not 
always  know  whether  the  feeling  she  expressed  were  real  or 
pretended. 

"  The  grace  and  apparent  abandon  of  her  manner,  her 
beauty,  her  wit,  her  singular  power  of  influencing  the  will 
of  others,  and  the  dash  of  poetry,  which,  strange  as  you  may 
think  it,  still  pervaded  her,  made  her  altogether  a  very  peril 
ous  acquaintance.  I,  certainly,  have  cause  to  say  so.  I 
lingered  a  week,  a  fortnight,  a  month,  and  still  could  not  find 
resolution  to  go.  I  had  an  air,  a  name  in  society,  and  the 
reputation  of  being  dangerous.  She  thought  me  worth 
angling  for,  put  forth  all  her  arts,  and  caught  me. 

"  I  have  read  an  Indian  legend  of  a  fisherman  who  catches  a 
fish  and  drags  him  to  the  surface,  but  in  the  midst  of  his  tri 
umph,  the  fish  swallows  him,  canoe  and  all.  The  angler, 
however,  kills  him  by  striking  at  his  heart  with  his  flinty 
war  club,  and  then  makes  his  escape  by  tearing  a  way  through 
his  vitals.  The  case  of  the  fish  is  precisely  analogous  to  mine. 
She  caught  me,  as  I  said  before  ;  but  I  caught  her  in  turn. 
She  fell  in  love  with  me,  wildly  and  desperately.  Her  pas 
sions  were  as  fierce  and  as  transient  as  a  tropical  hurricane. 
She  had  no  scruples ;  and  I  had  not  as  many  as  I  should 
have  had.  One  evening  we  were  gone,  and  two  days  after 


VASSALL    MORTON.  295 

we  were  out  of  sight  of  land  on  board  one  of  the  Cunard 
steamers. 

"  For  the  next  two  months,  I  was  in  paradise.  Then  came 
a  purgatory,  or  something  worse.  Her  passion  for  me  sub 
sided  as  quickly  as  it  had  arisen.  She  was  herself  again. 
Her  vanity  and  artifice,  her  insatiable  love  of  intrigue  and 
adventure,  returned  with  double  force.  I  wore  myself  out 
with  watching,  vexation,  and  anxiety.  She  tried  every  means 
to  attract  attention  and  draw  admirers,  and  every  where  she 
succeeded.  I  remember  that  one  night  at  Naples  she  insisted 
on  going  with  me  to  the  theatre  of  San  Carlo,  in  the  dress  of 
a  young  man,  and  wearing  a  moustache.  The  disguise  was 
detected,  as  she  meant  it  should  be,  and  eyes  centred  upon 
her  from  all  the  boxes.  I  tried  to  travel  with  her  through 
remote  and  unfrequented  countries,  such  as  the  interior  of 
Sicily  ;  but  it  was  all  in  vain.  There  was  no  resisting  her 
fiery  will,  and  I  was  compelled  to  go  wherever  she  wished. 

"  One  afternoon,  at  Messina,  at  the  table  d'hote,  we  met  a 
lively  young  Spanish  nobleman.  She  caught  his  eye  ;  I  saw 
them  exchange  glances.  In  spite  of  all  my  precautions, 
messages,  billets,  and  momentary  interviews  passed  between 
them.  I  challenged  the  Spaniard,  gave  him  a  severe  flesh 
wound,  and  thought  I  had  taught  him  a  lesson.  Not  at  all. 
On  the  next  day,  coming  to  my  lodgings,  I  found  her  gone, 
no  one  could  tell  whither.  I  was  desperate,  and  could  have 
done  any  thing  ;  but  there  was  nothing  to  be  done.  I  could 
not  find  her,  and  if  I  had  it  would  have  availed  me  nothing. 

"  I  returned  to  America,  wrought  up  to  the  verge  of  a  nervous 
fever ;  and,  by  mingling  in  amusements  of  every  kind,  tried 


296  VASSALL    MORTOX. 

to  forget  her.  In  six  or  eight  months  I  had  partially  suc 
ceeded.  My  health  was  not  good,  and  I  had  made  a  journey 
of  a  few  weeks  to  the  west ;  when,  on  returning,  —  it  was  a 
sultry  July  afternoon,  —  I  remember  it  as  if  it  were  yester 
day,  —  sitting  in  the  reading  room  window  of  the  New  York 
Hotel,  I  saw  her  passing  down  Broadway  in  an  open  carnage  ; 
and,  with  the  sight,  my  passion  awoke  again  at  fever  heat.  She 
had  left  the  Spaniard,  and  come  to  America  with  a  New  York 
gentleman,  who  had  lived  for  some  time  in  Paris.  I  had  an 
interview  with  her,  and  she  promised  to  join  me  again  ;  but 
she  broke  her  word.  She  saw  at  once  what  a  power  she  still 
held  over  me  ;  and  she  has  used  it  most  mercilessly  ever 
since.  She  practises  all  her  arts  on  me,  as  if  I  were  a  new 
lover,  whom  she  wished  to  insnare.  Sometimes  she  natters 
me  ;  sometimes  she  repels  me  ;  now  and  then  she  allows  me 
stolen  interviews,  or  long  walks  or  rides  with  her.  She 
plays  me  as  an  angler  plays  a  salmon  that  he  has  hooked,  till 
he  brings  him  gasping  to  his  death.  I  have  plunged  into  dis 
sipations  of  all  kinds,  to  drown  the  memory  of  her.  It  is  all 
useless.  She  knows  the  torments  I  am  suffering,  and  she 
rejoices  in  them.  Perhaps  she  remembers  that  it  was  I  who 
made  her  what  she  is,  and  takes  this  for  her  revenge.  But, 
pshaw  !  —  if  I  had  not  eloped  with  her,  some  one  else  would 
have  done  so  soon  ;  and  that  she  perfectly  well  knows.  It  is 
her  vanity  —  nothing  but  her  vanity:  she  delights  to  hold 
me  in  bondage ;  she  knows  that  I  am  her  slave,  and  she  glo 
ries  in  it." 

"But  why,  in  Heaven's  name,"  demanded  Morton,  "do 
you  not  break  away  from  this  miserable  fascination? " 


VASSALL   MOKTON.  297 

"  There  it  is  !  "  Buckland  answered  ;  "  I  only  wish  that  I 
had  the  power.  I  have  resolved  twenty  times  to  leave  New 
York,  and  my  resolution  has  failed  me  as  often." 

"  Who  takes  charge  of  her  now  ?  " 

"  Colonel  — — .     He  seems  as  crazy  after  her  as  I  was." 

"  I  can  hardly  comprehend,"  pursued  Morton,  "  how,  un 
derstanding  her  character  as  you  do,  you  can  still  remain  so 
infatuated  with  her." 

"  Neither  can  I  comprehend  it.  I  can  only  feel  it.  Strange 
—  is  it  not  ?  —  that  I,  who  used  to  be  regarded  as  a  mere  flirt ; 
who,  as  a  lady  acquaintance  once  told  me,  had  a  great  deal 
too  much  sentiment,  but  no  heart  at  all ;  I,  who,  in  my  time, 
have  written  love  verses  to  twenty  different  ladies,  —  should 
be  so  enchained  at  last  by  this  black-eyed  witch !  " 

"  Very  strange." 

"  And  now  what  would  you  recommend  ?  what  advice  do 
you  give  me  ?  You  see  in  what  a  predicament  I  stand. 
What  ought  I  to  do  ?  " 

"With  your  broken  health  and  weakened  nerves,"  said 
Morton,  "  it  is  useless  for  you  to  attempt  contending  against 
this  fancy  that  has  taken  possession  of  you.  You  must  run 
away  from  it.  Take  a  long  voyage ;  the  longer  the  better. 
I  will  go  with  you  to  engage  your  passage  to-morrow." 

Buckland  hesitated  at  first,  slowly  shaking  his  head ;  but 
in  a  moment  he  said,  with  some  animation,  "  Yes,  I  will  go, 
on  one  condition ;  you  must  promise  to  go  with  me." 

The  will,  the  motive  power,  —  never  very  strong  in  him,  — 
was  now  completely  relaxed.  He  was  unfitted  for  action  of 
any  kind,  and  was,  as  he  himself  said,  no  better  than  a  sea 


298  VASSALL    MORTON. 

weed  drifting  on  the  water.  Morton  walked  the  streets  with 
him  for  some  hours.  He  seemed  to  cling  to  his  companion, 
like  an.  ivy  to  the  supporting  trunk,  and  was  evidently  reluc 
tant  to  resign  his  company.  At  length,  Morton,  who  was 
exhausted  with  the  excitements  of  the  day,  pleaded  fatigue, 
and  bade  him  good  night.  He  turned  again,  however,  and, 
by  the  blaze  of  the  gas  lamps,  followed  with  his  eye  Buck- 
land's  slowly  receding  figure. 

"  A  few  hours  ago,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  I  thought  myself 
unhappy  ;  but  what  is  my  suffering  compared  to  his  ?  I  am 
not,  thank  God,  the  builder  of  my  own  misfortunes,  nor 
pursued  with  the  reflection  that  they  are  a  just  retribution  for 
my  own  misdeeds.  With  health,  liberty,  self-respect,  and  a 
good  conscience,  what  man  has  a  right  to  call  himself  mis 
erable  ? " 


CHAPTER    LIII. 

The  paths  of  glory  lead  but  to  the  grave.  —  Gray's  Elegy. 

MR.  SHINGLES  had  an  acquaintance  among  the  gentlemen 
of  the  press  ;  and,  chancing  to  meet  his  quill-driving  friend, 
he  told  him  Morton's  story.  It  appeared,  accordingly,  beau 
tifully  embellished,  in  one  of  the  evening  papers,  and  was 
copied,  the  next  morning,  into  several  others.  Consequently, 
Morton  had  scarcely  risen  from  breakfast,  when  he  was  visited 
by  half  a  dozen  persons,  editors  and  others,  eager  to  hear  his 
adventures,  for  the  gratification  of  their  own  curiosity,  or 
that  of  the  public.  As  he  detested  such  visitations,  and  as 
several  of  his  callers,  from  their  countenances  alone,  inspired 
him  with  an  earnest  longing  to  kick  them  down  stairs,  he 
hastened  to  avoid  the  nuisance  by  escaping  into  the  street. 
Since  the  tidings  he  had  heard  from  Shingles,  his  native  town 
had  lost  all  attraction  for  him  ;  in  fact  he  shrank  from  going 
thither,  and  willingly  lingered  another  day  in  New  York. 

Going  to  Buckland's  lodgings,  he  renewed  his  persuasions 
of  the  evening  before,  and  strongly  urged  him  to  leave  New 
York.  Buckland  assented  to  every  thing  he  said  ;  and,  hear 
ing  of  a  ship  about  to  sail  for  the  East  Indies,  Morton  went 
with  his  friend  to  the  merchant  to  whom  she  belonged,  and 

induced  him  to  engage  a  passage  in  her. 

(299) 


300  VASSALL    MORTON. 

Returning  to  his  hotel  at  about  two  o'clock,  a  waiter 
brought  him  a  card,  telling  him  that  a  boy  had  just  left  it  for 
him.  It  was  Rosny's  ;  and  on  it  were  scrawled  with  a  pencil 
the  following  concise  and  characteristic  words :  — 

Dear  M. :  Uncle  Sam  in  a  deuse  of  a  hurry.  Ordered  to 
the  island  this  afternoon.  Off  for  Mexico  to-morrow.  Sorry 
not  to  see  you,  but  haven't  a  minute  to  spare.  Good  luck.  — 

Au  revoir. 

Yours  till  doomsday, 

ROSNY. 

Morton  went  to  the  recruiting  office  where  he  had  been 
with  Rosny  on  the  day  before,  learned  the  time  and  place  of 
the  embarkation,  was  on  the  spot  at  the  hour  named,  and  in  a 
few  minutes  saw  Rosny  striding  down  the  wharf  in  most 
unmilitary  haste,  his  hair  fluttering  in  the  wind.  He  was  so 
engrossed  in  making  certain  arrangements,  and  issuing  his 
mandates  to  the  soldiers  who  were  to  row  him  and  some  other 
officers  to  Governor's  Island,  that  he  did  not  observe  Morton, 
who  stood  quietly  leaning  against  a  post. 

"  Hallo,  Dick,"  said  the  latter  at  length.  "  Haven't  you 
eyes  to  see  your  friends  ?  " 

Rosny  turned,  in  great  surprise,  and  greeted  him  most 
emphatically. 

"  Come,  Morton,'*  he  said,  as  he  was  stepping  into  the 
boat,  "  you'll  change  your  mind  after  all,  —  won't  you  ?  — 
and  meet  me  at  Vera  Cruz." 

"  I'll  sit  at  home,  and  read  your  exploits  in  the  papers," 
replied  Morton. 


VASSALL   MORTON.  301 

"  Well ;  a  wilful  man  must  have  his  way.     Adieu.*' 

"  Good  by.  May  you  live  to  be  a  general,  or  any  thing 
else  you  like,  short  of  the  presidency." 

"  Why,  shouldn't  I  make  a  good  president  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  What  ?  too  progressive,  —  too  wide  awake,  —  too  en 
lightened,  ey  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  too  pugnacious." 

"  There  you  are  again,  Boston  all  over.  I'll  be  president 
yet,  if  only  to  spite  the  Bostonites.  .  You  shall  write  my  life, 
and  I'll  give  you  an  office  for  it.  Farewell." 

Morton  watched  the  receding  boat  till  it  was  almost  out  of 
sight,  waved  his  hat  to  Rosny,  who  waved  his  own  in  return, 
and  walked  back  to  the  hotel,  wondering  what  would  be  the 
issue  of  his  old  classmate's  ambitious  schemes. 

How,  among  a  throng  of  brave  men,  Rosny  gained  a  name 
for  determined  daring ;  —  how,  on  every  occasion  that  offered, 
he  displayed  the  fire  of  the  Frenchman,  and  the  stubborn 
mettle  of  the  Saxon,  whose  blood  mingled  in  his  veins ;  — 
how,  though  sick  and  wounded,  he  dragged  himself  from  the 
hospital  at  Puebla,  and,  mounting  his  horse,  pushed  forward 
with  the  advancing  columns  ;  —  how  gallantly,  under  the 
murdering  storm  of  musketry  and  grape,  he  led  his  intrepid 
blackguards  up  the  rocks  of  Chapultepec ;  —  how,  while 
shouting  among  the  foremost,  he  climbed  the  hostile  rampart, 
a  bullet  plunged  into  his  brain,  and  dashed  him,  quivering  and 
dead,  to  the  foot  of  the  scaling  ladders  ;  —  all  this,  and  more 
likewise,  is  it  not  written  in  the  New  York  Herald  ? 

About  a  year  after  Rosny's  departure,  Morton  chanced  to 
26 


302  VASSALL   MORTON. 

be  again  in  New  York,  when,  in  going  out  one  morning,  he 
beheld  all  the  symptoms  of  some  impending  solemnity.  Flags, 
festooned  with  crape,  were  strung  across  Broadway  from 
building  to  building.  The  shops  were  half  closed,  and  the 
streets  were  fast  filling  with  people.  Patriot  citizens,  ex 
changing  the  yardstick  for  the  sword,  strode  the  sidewalk  in 
gorgeous  panoply ;  and  now  and  then  a  mounted  warrior  can 
tered  along  the  pavement,  struggling  to  keep  his  balance  on 
his  fiery  coach  horse.  In  an  hour  or  two  more,  the  pageant 
was  in  full  operation.  Looking  from  his  hotel  window, 
Morton  beheld  a  radiant  river  of  shining  bayonets,  many 
colored  plumes,  and  martial  millinery,  solemnly  flowing  down 
the  middle  of  Broadway,  to  strange  and  lugubrious  music, 
between  melancholy  shores  of  black  broadcloth  and  beaver 
hats.  At  length  a  train  of  hearses  appeared  slowly  advancing 
to  the  wailing  music  of  the  bands,  encircled  by  the  harmless 
sabres  of  the  civic  warriors,  playing  soldier,  around  the 
remains  of  those  who  had  borne  the  part  in  tragic  earnest. 
Over  every  hearse  the  national  flag  was  drooping,  and  upon 
each  was  inscribed  the  name  of  its  unconscious  tenant.  They 
were  officers  slain  in  battle  during  the  last  Mexican  campaign. 
Four  of  the  hearses  passed.  Morton  read  the  names.  They 
were  all  unknown  to  him ;  but  as  the  fifth  approached,  he 
looked,  started,  and  looked  again ;  for  wrought  in  white  upon 
the  sable  drapery  he  saw,  distinct  and  clear,  the  name  of 
Rosny.  Descending  to  the  street,  he  joined  the  procession  ; 
he  even  underwent  the  funeral  oration  at  the  City  Hall  ;  and 
when  it  was  over,  shouldering  through  the  crowd,  he  stood 
by  the  side  of  all  that  remained  of  his  old  classmate.  Rosny's 


| 


VASSALL    MORTON.  303 

cap,  and  the  sword  lie  had  used  so  well,  lay  on  the  lid  of  the 
coffin  ;  and  Morton  turned  away,  with  eyes  not  quite  dry,  as 
he  recalled  his  many  genial  traits  and  his  undaunted  spirit. 

To  resume.  On  returning  to  his  hotel  after  taking  leave 
of  Rosny,  Morton  found  a  note  awaiting  him,  directed  in  a 
female  hand.  He  opened  it,  and  read  the  signature,  —  Ellen 
Ashland,  —  the  name  of  a  lady  whom  he  had  well  known  in 
Boston,  and  who,  just  before  he  had  sailed  for  Europe,  had 
been  married  to  an  eminent  lawyer  of  his  acquaintance.  She 
wrote  that  she  had  seen  an  account  of  his  escape  from 
prison,  and  arrival  in  New  York,  in  the  morning  paper,  — 
expressed  an  earnest  wish  to  see  him,  and  invited  him  to  visit 
her  at  the  New  York  Hotel,  where  she  was  spending  a  few  days 
with  her  husband. 

As  the  time  named  was  almost  come,  Morton  called  a 
coach,  and  drove  up  town.  His  friend  received  him  with  a 
peculiar  warmth  and  earnestness  of  manner.  Morton  had 
known  her  as  a  person  of  marked  character  and  strong  but 
strictly  governed  emotions,  not  always  permitting  the  expres 
sion  of  a  feeling  to  keep  pace  with  the  feeling  itself.  He 
greatly  liked  and  esteemed  her,  and  her  presence  disarmed 
him,  in  a  great  degree,  of  his  usual  reserve. 

Her  husband  had  been  absent  all  day  in  Brooklyn,  and 
'would  not  return  till  late  in  the  evening. 

"  It  is  five  years  since  I  have  spoken  to  a  lady,"  said 
Morton,  as  he  seated  himself  at  the  tea  table. 

As  he  was  not  scrupulous  to  wear  a  mask  before  her,  she 
quickly  discovered  the  depressed  condition  of  his  mind  ;  and 
on  her  charging  him  with  being  very  much  out  of  spirits,  he 
admitted  that  he  was  so. 

.   * 


304      .  VASSALL    MORTON. 

"  One  would  think,"  she  observed,  "  that  after  the  suffer 
ings  that  you  have  passed,  you  would  have  come  home  in  a 
different  mood  of  mind." 

"  And  so  I  did,"  said  Morton. 

"  You  seem  in  no  great  haste  to  see  your  friends  and 
relations  in  Boston." 

"  I  have  no  near  relations  there." 

"  But  you  have  friends." 

"  Yes ;  I  have  heard  from  them.  I  met  an  acquaintance 
yesterday." 

"  You  have  heard,  then "  And  she  bent  her  eyes  upon 

his  face,  with  a  look  searching  but  full  of  kindness,  as  if 
studying  his  thoughts. 

"  Five  years,"  she  continued,  "  is  a  long  time.  Great 
changes  may  have  taken  place." 

"  Changes  have  taken  place,"  said  Morton. 

"  You  have  lost  none  of  your  intimate  friends,  as  far 
as  I  know  them ;  but  some  have  left  Boston,  and  some  are 
married." 

Morton  did  not  look  up ;  but  an  undefined  expression 
passed  across  his  face,  like  the  shadow  of  a  black  cloud. 
When,  a  moment  after,  he  raised  his  eyes,  he  saw  those  of 
Mrs.  Ashland  fixed  upon  him  with  the  same  earnest  gaze  as 
before.  Such  scrutiny  from  another  would  have  been  intoler 
able  to  him  ;  but  in  her  it  gave  him  no  uneasiness. 

A  servant  entering  changed  for  a  time  the  character  of  their 
conversation.  A  quarter  of  an  hour  afterwards  they  were 
again  alone,  and  Morton  was  seated  near  the  window,  when 
his  friend  approached  him,  her  features  kindling  with  a  look 


VASSALL    MORTON.  305 

of  ill- suppressed  feeling,  laid  her  hand  on  his  shoulder,  and 
said,  "Vassall,"  —  she  had  always  before  addressed  him  as 
Mr.  Morton,  —  "  my  heart  bleeds  for  you  —  for  you  and  for 
Edith  Leslie." 

Morton  looked  up  till  he  met  her  eyes.  The  surprise,  the 
sudden  consciousness  that  she  was  privy  to  his  grief,  the 
warm  and  heartfelt  woman's  sympathy  that  he  read  in  every 
line  of  her  face,  were  too  much  for  his  manhood,  and  he 

burst  into  tears. 

26* 


CHAPTER    LIV. 


TSlle  n'est  point  paijure,  elle  n'est  point  leg&re ; 

Son  devoir  m'a  trahi,  mon  malheur,  et  son  p&re.  —  Pdyeucte. 


MOETON'S  evening  with  Mrs.  Ashland,  and  the  story  which 
she  told  him,  removed  at  least  one  pain  from  his  breast.  He 
learned  that  Edith  Leslie  was  not  in  fault ;  and  that,  great  as 
his  misfortune  might  be,  his  idol  was  not  turned  to  clay. 

His  friend's  narrative,  however,  was  very  defective.  She 
could  give  results  merely,  not  knowing,  or  suspecting,  the 
hidden  springs  which  produced  them ;  and  Morton  was  left  to 
form  his  own  conclusions.  The  following  is  a  more  explicit 
statement. 

Morton  embarked  for  Europe,  and  the  return  steamer 
brought,  in  due  course,  a  letter  to  Edith  Leslie.  With  the 
next  steamer  came  another ;  with  the  next,  a  third ;  all  as 
absurd  epistles  as  the  most  exacting  mistress  could  desire. 
The  succeeding  mail  was  silent.  She  wondered  and  hoped  ; 
but  when  the  next  arrived,  and  brought  no  tidings,  her  heart 
began  to  fail.  The  winter  wore  away,  and  still  no  letter 
came.  She  was  living,  at  that  time,  with  her  father,  at  his 
country  seat.  Leslie's  health  was  declining,  and  when  Vinal 
returned  from  his  short  European  tour,  he  consigned  to  his 
hands  the  care  of  his  affairs,  and  spent  the  greater  part  of  his 

(306) 


VASSALL    MORTON.  307 

time  at  Matherton ;  for  he  had  a  strong  love  for  the  home  of 
his  boyhood. 

Spring  returned,  and  blossomed  into  summer ;  but  nothing 
was  heard  of  Morton.  The  season  ripened ;  the  fringed  gen 
tian  sprang  in  the  meadow,  and  the  aster  by  the  roadside ; 
but  no  word  .came.  In  the  forests,  the  October  frosts  began 
their  gorgeous  work.  The  ash  put  on  its  purple ;  the  oak  its 
varied  coloring ;  the  sumach  its  blood-red  glare ;  and  at  even 
ing,  the  sun  went  down  in  cold,  stern  splendors  behind  the 
painted  mountains.  Dry  leaves  whirled  upon  the  ground; 
chill  clouds  mustered  in  the  sky;  and  flakes  of  snow,  the 
harbingers  of  storm,  were  blown  along  the  frozen  road.  Then 
winter  sank  upon  the  landscape,  and  deeper  winter  on  the 
heart  of  the  unhappy  girl. 

Time  passed  on,  and  the  hope  of  Morton's  return  grew 
fainter.  Leslie,  seeing  his  daughter's  deep  distress,  made  a 
journey  to  Europe ;  but  his  search  was  fruitless.  Meredith, 
who  spent  a  year  on  the  continent,  pursued  the  same  inquiries, 
but  could  trace  his  friend  no  farther  than  the  town  of  Neu- 
burg,  in  Bavaria.  Morton,  before  his  departure,  had  made 
his  will,  and  in  the  ardor  of  his  attachment,  had  left  the 
bulk  of  his  property  to  his  betrothed,  distributing  a  compara 
tively  small  residue  among  a  number  of  poor  relations,  none 
of  whom  had  either  the  means  or  the  worldly  knowledge  to 
take  measures  for  ascertaining  his  fate. 

Meanwhile,  Leslie  had  fallen  into  a  decline ;  and  there  was 
no  hope  that  his  life  could  be  protracted  beyond  a  year  or 
two.  He  became  more  than  ever  dependent  upon  Vinal,  who 
now  assumed  nearly  the  whole  charge  of  his  affairs,  acquitting 


308  VASSALL    MOETON. 

himself  with  great  ability,  and,  in  this  instance,  with  entire 
faithfulness.  A  rickety  manufacturing  concern,  which  for 
years  had  been  a  drain  upon  Leslie's  purse,  began,  under 
Vinal's  control,  to  yield  a  good  profit ;  and  the  former  saw 
all  his  resources  quickened  and  replenished,  as  if  by  an  infu 
sion  of  new  life. 

Vinal  was  mounting  very  high  in  the  general  esteem.  His 
polished  address,  —  a  little  too  precise,  however,  —  his  ac 
knowledged  scholarship,  his  character  for  honor  and  integrity, 
and  his  energy  and  capacity  for  business,  commended  him  to 
all  classes.  He  passed  current  alike  in  ball  rooms  and  on 
change.  Men  of  the  world  never  doubted  him ;  and,  after 
all,  this  confidence  was  not  quite  groundless,  for  Vinal,  who 
had  a  sage  eye  to  his  own  interest,  had  embraced  the  maxim 
that,  in  matters  of  business,  a  course  of  absolute  integrity  is, 
under  all  ordinary  circumstances,  the  only  wise  policy. 

As,  in  process  of  time,  the  conviction  of  Morton's  death  was 
confirmed,  Leslie's  old  wish  for  a  union  between  his  daughter 
and  Vinal  began  again  to  grow  strong  within  him.  Some  two 
years  after  her  lover's  disappearance,  he  ventured  to  speak  to 
her  of  this  favorite  plan ;  but  it  was  long  before  he  dared 
allude  to  it  again.  Meanwhile,  Vinal's  attentions  had  been 
assiduous  and  constant,  yet  so  tempered  as  to  convey  the 
idea  that  he  despaired  of  any  other  reward  than  the  contin 
uance  of  her  friendship.  At  length,  however,  certain  of  her 
father's  countenance,  and  assuming  Morton's  death  as  now 
beyond  a  doubt,  he  began,  with  all  possible  delicacy  and  cau 
tion,  to  renew  his  former  addresses.  He  was  not  long  in  dis 
covering  that  his  cause  was  quite  hopeless,  unless,  he  could 


VASSALL    MORTON.  309 

produce  some  positive  proof  that  Morton  was  no  longer 
alive. 

During  the  third  summer  of  the  latter's  absence,  Vinal 
went,  for  two  or  three  months,  to  Europe,  the  state  of  his 
health  being  the  alleged  motive.  While  in  Paris,  he  tried  to 
find  his  former  confederate,  Speyer,  but  could  only  learn  that 
he  was  no  longer  in  that  city.  On  returning  to  America,  he 
told  Leslie  that  he  had  inquired  after  Morton,  on  all  sides, 
without  the  least  success,  but  had  taken  measures  which,  he 
thought  it  not  impossible,  might  in  time  lead  to  some  dis 
covery.  In  various  parts  of  Germany,  there  was,  as  he  af 
firmed,  a  class  of  travelling  merchants  and  commercial  agents, 
who,  from  the  nature  of  their  avocations,  had  every  facility 
for  making  inquiries  within  the  districta  which  they  frequented. 
He  had  taken  pains,  he  said,  to  become  acquainted  with  a 
large  number  of  these  men,  to  whom  he  had  stated  the  case 
of  Morton's  disappearance,  and  promised  a  reward  for  any 
information  concerning  him. 

Some  time  after  this,  he  told  Leslie  that  he  had  had  word 
from  one  of  these  correspondents.  The  latter,  he  affirmed,  had 
heard  that  a  young  man,  said  to  be  an  Englishman,  had  died 
very  suddenly  three  or  four  years  before,  in  an  unfrequented 
part  of  Bohemia.  The  German  declared  himself  ready,  if 
desired,  to  go  to  the  district  in  question,  and  inquire  into  the 
matter.  Leslie  was  anxious  that  the  inquiry  should  be  made ; 
upon  which  Vinal,  though  seeming  not  at  all  sanguine  as  to 
any  result,  gave  him  the  name  of  his  imaginary  correspondent, 
and  advised  that  he  should  write  to  him.  Leslie,  however, 
as  Vinal  had  foreseen,  desired  that  the  latter  should  carry  on 


310  VASSALL    MORTON. 

the  correspondence.  He  accordingly  wrote  a  letter,  directed 
to  Jacob  Hatz.  This  he  showed  to  Leslie,  and  mailed  it  in 
his  presence,  consigning  it  to  a  long  repose  in  some  continen 
tal  dead  letter  office.  At  the  same  time,  he  secretly  de 
spatched  another  letter,  directed  to  Henry  Speyer ;  for  he 
had  meanwhile  discovered  the  address  of  this  serviceable  per 
son.  This  letter  was  as  follows  :  — 

Dear  Sir :  You  cannot  have  forgotten  some  interviews 
and  correspondence  which  formerly  passed  between  us  con 
cerning  a  person  who  soon  after  was  unfortunate  enough  to 
fall  under  the  notice  of  the  Austrian  police.  Nothing  has 
since  been  heard  of  him,  and  it  is  commonly  believed  here 
that  he  is  dead.  It  is  my  desire  to  have  this  opinion  con 
firmed  ;  and  having  found  you  honorable  and  efficient  on  an 
other  occasion,  I  cannot  doubt  that  I  shall  find  you  so  in  this. 
May  I  beg  your  services  in  the  following  particulars  ? 

1st.  To  take  an  imaginary  journey  into  Bohemia,  Mora 
via,  or  parts  adjacent. 

2d.  To  discover  that,  three  years  or  more  ago,  a  young 

man,  an  American,  named  ,  travelling  alone 

on  horseback  in  an  unfrequented  part  of  the  country,  (this 
was  his  habit,)  was  attacked  .by  cholera,  or  any  other  violent 
disease  prevalent  thereabouts,  which  carried  him  off  in  less 
than  three  days. 

3d.  That  he  died  at  a  small  village  inn ;  that  a  Lutheran 
clergyman  took  charge  of  his  effects,  and  wrote  to  his  friends  ; 
but  that  the  letter  may  have  miscarried,  or  the  clergyman 
may  have  played  false,  and  kept  the  windfall  that  had  come 
to  him. 


VASSALL    MORTON.  311 

4th.  That  two  years  ago,  the  clergyman  removed  into 
Hungary,  but  that  the  innkeeper,  a  stupid,  beetle-headed 
fellow,  showed  you  a  headstone  in  the  Protestant  burial 

ground,  with 's  name  upon  it.  The  innkeeper  may 

describe  him  as  a  young  man  of  twenty-four,  or  less,  but 
must  not  remember  too  much,  as  this  might  attract  further 
inquiry. 

This  is  the  outline,  and  will  serve  to  indicate  the  kind  of 
thing  required.  Vary  it,  in  respect  to  details,  as  your  judg 
ment  and  your  knowledge  of  the  customs  of  the  country  may 
suggest.  Names  are  omitted.  Please  observe  the  ciphers 
which  stand  in  their  places.  You  will  soon  receive,  through 
another  channel,  means  to  supply  the  deficiency,  if,  indeed, 
your  memory  will  not  do  so  unaided. 

Sign  your  letter  Jacob  Hatz.  There  is  another  point, 
which  I  beg  you  to  observe  particularly.  Mention  that  on 
the  gravestone,  besides  the  name,  was  carved  a  figure,  like 
an  urn  or  cup,  with  a  large  ball  above  it.  Date  of  death, 
also  ;  — December  7,  1841. 

I  herewith  enclose  five  hundred  francs.  On  receiving 
your  reply,  with  this  letter  enclosed,  I  shall  immediately  send 
you  five  hundred  more.  If  I  were  not  a  poor  man,  and  ex 
pecting  always  to  be  so,  I  could  remunerate  your  services 
better. 

With  the  fullest  reliance  on  your  honor  and  discretion,  I 

remain, 

Yours,  truly, . 

P.  S.  For  your  better  direction,  I  subjoin  a  formula  to 
be  followed  in  the  beginning  of  your  letter.  You  can  word 
the  rest  in  your  own  way.  Write  in  French. 


312  VASSAJLL   MORTON. 

Vinal,  if  he  had  dared,  would  gladly  have  forged  such  a 
letter  as  he  required,  instead  of  trusting  to  another  person ; 
but  art  or  nature  had  not  gifted  him  with  the  needful  skill ; 
and  he  was  anxious,  moreover,  to  have  the  foreign  postmarks 
stamped  upon  it  in  form. 

In  due  time,  Speyer's  answer  came.  He  had  neglected  to 
return  Vinal's  letter,  as  desired ;  but  in  other  respects,  his 
performance  gave  his  employer  ample  satisfaction.  The  latter 
showed  it  to  Leslie,  who  seemed  convinced  by  it;  while  his 
daughter,  on  reading  it,  abandoned  at  once  the  hope  to  which 
she'  had  hitherto  clung,  that  Morton  might  still  be  living. 

"I  remember  this  Hatz  very  well,"  said  Vinal;  "he 
seemed  to  be  a  plain,  honest  sort  of  man,  —  an  agent,  I  be 
lieve,  of  a  merchant  in  Strasburg.  And  yet  the  reward  I 
promised  might  have  been  too  great  a  temptation." 

"  Then,"  said  Leslie,  "  you  would  not  receive  this  as  a 
proof  of  Mr.  Morton's  death  ?  " 

"  No,  I  would  not :  that  is,  I  should  not  but  for  one  thing; 
—  it  is  so  very  much  like  Vassall  Morton  to  be  travelling 
alone,  on  horseback,  in  an  out-of-the-way  part  of  the  country." 

"  Did  you  observe,"  pursued  Leslie,  "  what  he  says  of  fig 
ures  of  an  urn  and  ball  cut  on  the  gravestone  ?  " 

"  I  saw  it,  but  did  not  observe  it  particularly." 

Leslie  gave  him  the  letter,  and  Vinal  read  the  part  re 
ferred  to. 

"  What  can  it  mean  ? "  asked  Leslie. 

"  I  can't  conceive,"  replied  Vinal. 

"It  is  the  vase  and  sun,"  said  Edith  Leslie;  "the  device 
of  his  mother's  family,  the  Vassalls." 


VASSA.LL    MORTON.  313 

"  Ah,"  exclaimed  Vinal,  looking  up  with  a  face  of  mourn 
ful  interest,  "you  must  be  right;  the  same  figures  are 
carved  on  the  tomb  of  the  Vassalls,  in  the  old  churchyard  at 
Cambridge." 

"  They  were  cut,"  pursued  Miss  Leslie,  "  on  a  garnet  ring, 
which  he  always  used  as  a  seal." 

"  I  remember  his  showing  me  that  ring,"  said  her  father, 
"  and  telling  me  that  it  was  older  than  the  voyage  of  the 
Mayflower.  It  was  a  kind  of  heirloom,  which  his  mother  had 
left  him." 

"  Yes,"  suggested  the  sympathizing  Vinal,  who  had  long 
known  that  Morton  used  no  other  seal  than  this  ring ;  "  and 
the  device  on  it  was  supposed  to  be  his  armorial  bearing,  and 
so  cut  on  the  gravestone,  as  it  is  on  the  Vassall  tomb  at 
Cambridge. 

All  doubt  of  Morton's  death  was  now  dispelled.  His  be 
trothed  stored  his  image  in  her  thoughts,  as  that  of  one  lost 
for  this  world ;  and  Vinal  saw  the  field  clear  before  him. 
Leslie  was  failing  fast ;  and,  as  his  life  ebbed,  his  wish  for 
his  daughter's  marriage  with  Vinal  grew  and  strengthened. 
He  urged  her,  daily,  to  listen  to  his  suit ;  extolling  his  favor 
ite's  talents,  energy,  acquirements,  and  unimpeachable  char 
acter —  praises  which  she  believed  to  be  wholly  just.  Vinal, 
on  his  part,  seconded  these  parental  efforts  with  most  earnest, 
beseeching,  not  to  say  abject  importunities.  The  compassion 
which  he  contrived  to  excite,  an  idea  of  duty,  and  an  urgent 
wish  to  gratify  her  dying  father,  at  length  prevailed  with  her ; 
and  laying  before  Vinal  the  true  state  of  her  feelings,  she 
consented,  on  such  terms,  to  accept  his  suit. 
27 


314  VASSALL   MORTON. 

Vinal  had  gained  his  point ;  but  he  had  scarcely  done  so, 
when  his  spirits  were  dashed  by  an  untoward  incident,  the 
nature  of  which  may  be  guessed  hereafter.  And,  as  it  never 
rains  but  it  pours,  this  reverse  of  luck  was  soon  followed  by 
a  second,  of  another  kind. 

One  afternoon,  returning  from  his  customary  constitutional 
ride,  he  was  in  the  act  of  turning  the  upper  corner  of  a 
street  which  slopes  downward  somewhat  steeply  till  it  meets 
a  main  thoroughfare  of  the  town.  A  small  ragamuffin  boy 
was  standing  on  the  curbstone,  with  a  blade  of  grass  between 
his  thumbs,  through  which  he  blew  with  might  and  main, 
evidently  to  startle  VinaTs  horse,  whose  head  was  within  a 
yard  of  him.  He  succeeded  to  his  complete  satisfaction. 
Vinal  switched  at  the  youngster  with  his  whip ;  but  this  only 
made  matters  worse.  The  horse  galloped  down  the  street 
at  a  rate  which  his  rider's  weak  arm  could  not  check ;  and, 
at  the  corner  of  the  main  street,  wheeling  suddenly  to  the 
left,  he  slipped  on  the  wet  pavement,  and  fell  with  a  crash  on 
his  side.  Horse  and  man  lay  motionless,  till  a  city  teamster, 
running  up,  raised  the  former  by  the  bridle.  Two  or  three 
passers  by  came  to  Vinal's  aid ;  but  as  they  lifted  him,  he  set 
his  teeth  with  pain.  The  horse  had  fallen  on  his  left  leg, 
breaking  it  above  the  knee. 

Vinal  was  timid  to  excess  in  time  of  danger ;  but  he  could 
bear  pain  with  the  firmness  of  a  stoic.  While  he  felt  him 
self  run  away  with,  and  at  the  moment  of  his  fall,  he  had 
been  greatly  confused.  He  no  sooner  saw  that  the  worst  was 
over,  than  he  rallied  his  faculties,  and  asserted  his  usual  self- 
mastery.  His  face  was  fast  growing  pale  with  violence  of 
pain ;  but  he  was  quite  himself  again. 


VASSALL    MORTON.  315 

A  crowd  gathered  about  him,  as  he  lay  leaning  on  the  steps 
of  the  neighboring  church. 

"  Shall  we  carry  you  to  the Hotel  ? "  asked  a  gen 
tleman. 

"  Yes,  if  you  please.  But  first  be  kind  enough  to  bring  a 
shutter.  They  will  give  you  one  at  the  school  round  the  cor 
ner.  When  a  man  is  killed,  drunk,  or  maimed,  there  is 
nothing  like  a  shutter.  How  do  you  do,  Edwards  ?  "  —  to  a 
man  whom  he  recognized  in  the  crowd. 

"  I  hope  you  are  not  badly  hurt." 

"  My  leg  is  broken." 

"  Are  you  in  great  pain  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  a  bad  business,  I  think.  Will  you  oblige  me  by 
seeing  that  my  horse  is  led  to  the  stable  in Street  ?  " 

The  shutter  was  soon  brought. 

"  Thank  you.     Lift  me  very  gently." 

As  they  moved  him  he  clinched  his  teeth  again  in  silent 
torture. 

"  All  right.  Now  one  take  the  shutter  at  the  head,  and 
one  at  the  feet.  You'll  find  me  a  light  weight." 

And  thus,  between  two  men,  escorted  by  a  procession  of 
schoolboys  just  let  loose,  Vinal  was  carried  to  the  hotel. 

The  event  justified  his  presage.  He  was  forced  to  lie 
motionless  for  weeks,  suffering  greatly  from  bodily  pain,  and 
no  less  from  certain  anxieties  which  of  late  had  harassed  him. 
Leslie,  on  his  part,  was  in  great  distress  at  the  disaster.  He 
felt,  or  fancied  himself,  near  his  end  ;  and  thS  wish  next  his 
heart  was  to  see  the  marriage  accomplished  before  he  died. 
It  was  therefore  determined  that,  notwithstanding  the  inaus- 


316  VASSALL    MORTON. 

picious  plight  of  the  bridegroom,  it  should  take  place  at  the 
time  before  fixed  upon,  four  months  after  the  beginning  of 
the  engagement. 

The  ceremony  was  very  private.  None  were  present  but 
two  or  three  friends  of  Miss  Leslie,  the  dying  father,  borne 
thither  in  a  chair,  the  disabled  bridegroom,  and  the  pale  and 
agitated  bride ;  for  that  morning,  standing  before  Morton's 
picture,  a  strange  misgiving  and  a  dark  foreboding  had  fallen 
upon  her,  and  the  sun  never  shone  on  a  bride  more  wretched. 
Her  nearest  friend,  Mrs.  Ashland,  was  at  her  side.  She  was 
the  only  person,  besides  her  father  and  Vinal,  who  knew  of 
her  engagement  to  Morton,  and,  indeed,  had  been  her  confi 
dante  from  first  to  last.  Soon  after  Morton's  disappearance, 
an  accident  had  brought  them  together,  reviving  an  old  school 
intimacy ;  and  Edith  Leslie,  in  her  suspense  and  misery,  was 
but  too  glad  to  find  a  friend  in  whom  she  could  trust  without 
reserve. 

The  rite  was  ended,  and  Edith  Leslie  was  Edith  Vinal. 
Days  and  weeks  passed ;  Leslie  slowly  declined,  and  Vinal 
slowly  recovered.  She  divided  her  time  between  them,  pass 
ing  the  greater  part  of  the  day  with  the  latter,  and  returning 
at  evening  to  watch  by  her  father's  bed  or  rest  within  sound 
of  his  voice.  At  length,  three  weeks  after  her  marriage,  on 
a  morning  the  horror  of  which  remained  scarred  always  in 
her  memory,  Morton's  letter  from  Genoa  was  put  into  her 
hands  ;  and  the  long-disciplined  patience  with  which  she  had 
armed  herself,  the  religion  which  she  had  called  to  her  aid, 
all  the  guards  and  defences  of  her  mind,  were  borne  down, 
for  a  time,  by  the  resistless  flood  of  passion,  which,  like  a 
river  bursting  its  barriers,  swept  all  before  it. 


CHAPTER   LV. 


We  twain  have  met  like  ships  upon  the  sea, 
Who  hold  an  hour's  converse,        *        *        * 
One  little  hour !  and  then  away  they  speed 
On  lonely  paths,  through  mist,  and  cloud,  and  foam, 
To  meet  no  more.  —  Alexander  Smith. 


"  GOOD  morning,  Ned,"  said  Morton  to  his  friend  Meredith. 
He  had  come  to  Boston  the  day  before,  and  had  already  seen 
Meredith  more  than  once. 

"  Going  already  ?  Sit  down,  man.  Why  are  you  in  such 
a  hurry  ?  " 

"  I  shall  look  in  again  before  night." 

"  You  are  not  well.  I  never  thought  you  could  look  so 
worn  and  haggard." 

"  Try  the  prison  of  Ehrenberg  for  four  or  five  years,  and 
see  how  you  will  look  when  you  get  out.  It's  nothing, 
though.  A  little  rest  will  make  all  right  again." 

"  You  are  not  very  likely  to  get  it.  You  are  a  lion  now, 
and  people  will  not  leave  you  alone." 

"  They  shall.  I  am  not  in  the  humor  for  balls  and  dinner 
parties." 

He  went  to  the  house  of  Mrs.  Ashland,  whom  he  had 
accompanied  homeward  from  New  York. 

"  Have  you  the  letter  for  me  ?  " 

27  *  (317) 


318  VASSALL    MORTON. 

The  letter  was  that  which  had  come  from  Europe  with  the 
story  of  his  death.  On  hearing  Mrs.  Ashland' s  account,  he 
had  at  once  conjectured  that  this  was  but  another  stroke  of 
Vinal's  diplomacy ;  but  he  had  been  careful  not  to  intimate 
to  his  friend  the  least  suspicion  against  the  latter. 

The  commission  of  obtaining  from  Edith  the  letter  in  ques 
tion  was  far  from  an  agreeable  one  ;  but  Mrs.  Ashland  had 
accomplished  it,  and  now  placed  the  paper  in  Morton's  hands. 

The  signature  was  not  that  of  Speyer ;  but  at  the  first 
glance,  Morton  was  sure  that  the  small,  neat  handwriting  was 
the  same  with  that  of  the  treacherous  notes  of  introduction 
given  him  by  Vinal  at  Paris.  As  he  studied  the  letter,  read 
ing  and  re-reading  it,  his  companion,  who  remembered  him 
chiefly  as  a  frank,  good-humored  young  man,  was  startled  at 
the  stern  and  almost  fierce  expression  which  once  or  twice 
came  over  his  features,  and  seemed  to  be  banished  by  an 
effort.  A  vague  suspicion  of  some  mystery  rose  in  her  mind, 
but  Morton  hastened  to  divert  her. 

"  I  hope  that  Edith  will  not  refuse  a  visit  from  me." 

Here,  again,  Mrs.  Ashland  promised  to  mediate  for  him, 
and  in  the  afternoon  he  received  a  note  from  her,  saying  that 
Vinal's  wife  wrould  see  him  on  the  next  morning. 

At  the  hour  named,  he  rang  at  the  door,  forced  his  lips 
to  inquire  for  "  Mrs.  Vinal,"  gave  his  name  to  the  servant, 
and  was  shown  into  the  drawing  room. 

It  was  nearly  five  years  since  he  had  last  seen  that  well- 
remembered  room.  Nothing  was  changed.  It  remained 
precisely  as  he  had  known  it  when  he  stood  prosperously  on 
the  farther  verge  of  that  dreary  chasm  of  time ;  and  as  each 


VASSALL   MORTON.  319 

familiar  object  met  his  eye,  such  a  flood  of  bitter  recollection 
came  upon  him,  that  for  a  moment  he.  bent  his  head  upon  his 
breast. 

He  raised  it,  and  started  as  he  did  so.  Reflected  in  the 
mirror  at  the  end  of  the  room,  as  if  the  art  of  some  new  Cor 
nelius  had  evoked  it,  stood,  pale  as  marble,  the  form  that  had 
so  long  attended  his  sleeping  and  waking  dreams.  Morton 
turned  quickly,  and  saw  Edith  standing  motionless  in  the 
doorway. 

He  advanced  towards  her,  and  took  her  hand  in  both  his 
own.  She  raised  her  eyes  to  his  face  in  silence.  He  tried  to 
speak,  but  tried  in  vain.  At  length  he  found  utterance. 

"  I  know  it  all.  Ellen  Ashland  has  told  me  every  thing. 
I  do  not  blame  you ;  —  no  one  can  blame  you." 

"  Thank  God  that  you  think  so." 

'*  Yes,  thank  God ;  for  when  I  thought  that  you  had 
forgotten  me " 

"  Then  you  did  think  so  ?  " 

"  For  a  time  ;  and  it  seemed  to  me  as  if  no  more  con 
stancy  were  left  on  earth ;  as  if  it  had  been  sapped  and 
undermined  in  its  very  citadel." 

"  Do  not  believ£  that  I  forgot  you  for  a  single  hour ;  or 
that  I  can  ever  forget  you.  You  and  I  have  been  joined  at 
least  in  an  equal  sorrow  and  suspense.  We  have  walked 
through  depths  together,  and  drank  the  same  gall  and 
bitterness." 

"  That  one  month  —  four  miserable  weeks  —  should  have 
worked  all  this  !  One  month  sooner,  and  this  black  picture 
of  our  lives  would  have  been  bright  again  as  the  sunshine. 


320  VASSALL    MORTON. 

I  could  believe  that  some  infernal  power  had  taken  the  reins 
of  our  fate." 

"  Do  not  say  so,  nor  think  so.  You  have  fronted  death ; 
you  have  braved  despair ;  and  now  bear  this  blow  victoriously 
as  you  have  borne  the  rest." 

"  The  crowning  blow  is  the  heaviest  of  all." 

"  Look  into  my  heart,  —  if  you  could  look  into  it,  —  and 
see  on  which  of  us  it  has  fallen  with  the  more  sickening  and 
withering  force." 

Morton  looked  into  her  face.  It  was  like  a  deep  lake 
becalmed,  into  which  strong  springs  are  boiling  up  from  rocks 
at  the  bottom.  The  surface  is  still ;  but  looking  more  closely, 
one  may  discern  faint  gliding  undulations  and  trembling  lines, 
which  betray  the  turmoil  below.  Morton  saw  them,  and  felt 
their  purport. 

"  I  would  to  God,"  he  said,  "  I  could  bear  your  burden 
for  you." 

Edith  buried  her  face,  and  burst  into  a  flood  of  weeping. 

Grief,  mixed  with  more  ardent  emotion,  wrought  with  such 
violence  in  Morton's  breast,  that  he  scarcely  restrained  his 
impulse  to  throw  himself  at  her  feet.  In  a  few  moments,  she 
raised  her  head. 

"  Do  not  think  from  this,  that  I  am  not  resigned  to  what 
has  fallen  on  us.  It  is  best.  Incomprehensible  as  it  is,  it  is 
best  for  us  both." 

A  passionate  denial  rose  to  Morton's  lips ;  but  he  did  not 
utter  it. 

"  I  overrated  my  strength.  I  am  weaker  than  I  hoped  to 
have  found  myself.  You  wish  to  bear  my  burden !  You 


VA8SALL    MORTON.  321 

have  had  enough  to  bear  of  your  own,  Vassall ;  but  with 
you,  endurance  is  not  the  whole.  You  still  have  youth, 
health,  vigor.  To. one  of  your  instincts,  the  world  has  noble 
tasks  enough.  With  a  heart/steeled  by  dangers,  refined  by 
sufferings,  tempered  in  fires  of  anguish,  what  path  need  you 
fear  to  tread  ?  Forget  the  past ;  —  no,  do  not  forget  it ;  only 
forget  all  in  it  that  may  damp  your  courage  or  weaken  your 
hand.  When  I  knew  you  first,  you  were  full  of  zeal  in  a 
worthy  and  generous  enterprise.  Cling  to  it  still.  Let  me 
see  the  tree  which  I  knew  in  its  blossoming  bear  a  full  fruit 
at  maturity.  Let  me  see  the  ardent  and  earnest  spirit  which 
I  knew  in  the  beginning,  not  quelled  or  flagging  by  the  way, 
but  holding  on  its  course  to  the  end.  The  pure  chivalry  of 
your  heart  which  constrained  me  to  love  you,  the  instinct 
which  turned  towards  honor  and  nobleness  as  a  tree  turns 
its  branches  to  the  sun,  —  do  not  part  from  it;  keep  it 
unstained  for  my  sake,  and  let  it  brighten  and  strengthen  all 
your  life." 

"  If  preachers  could  speak  with  your  tongue,"  exclaimed 
Morton,  "  the  world  would  forget  itself  and  grow  virtuous. 
The  love  that  I  have  lost  on  earth  I  will  set  among  the  stars. 
It  shall  be  my  beacon  till  the  day  I  die." 

"  We  are  too  delicate  and  timorous  to  bear  a  part  in  the 
active  struggles  of  life  ;  but  it  is  a  woman's  office  to  raise 
and  purify  the  thoughts  of  those  who  do.  You,  whose  strong 
natures  are  formed  for  warfare,  cannot  be  so  sensitive  as  we 
are  to  every  spot  that  dims  the  brightness  of  your  armor.  It 
is  easy  for  me,  before  one  whom  I  have  loved  as  I  have  loved 
you,  to  hold  this  tone,  and  be  borne  up  for  a  time  above  the 


322  VASSALL    MOBTON. 

thought  of  grief  and  renouncement.  But  it  is  a  different 
task  to  still,  through  all  a  lifetime,  the  longings  of  a  woman's 
heart,  and  the  impatient  surgings  of  a  woman's  temperament. 
This  is  the  task  assigned  me,  and  I  accept  it.  Life  —  action 
—  are  before  you.  Patience  is  my  medicine ;  the  slow  talis 
man  which  must  open  in  the  end  my  door  of  promise." 

Morton  pressed  her  hand  to  his  lips. 

"  *  There  is  some  soul  of  goodness  in  things  evil.'  A  sorrow 
under  which,  feebly  borne,  the  mind  would  wither  to  the 
earth,  borne  well  will  lift  it  above  the  clouds.  Do  not  believe 
that  I  have  deceived  any  one.  He  knows  on  what  terms  he 
takes  me.  I  feel  respect,  esteem,  confidence,  warm  friendship 
for  him." 

"  May  you  never  be  undeceived,"  thought  Morton  to 
himself. 

"  But  for  any  more  ardent  love,  —  that,  I  told  him,  was 
buried  in  the  grave  with  you." 

She  was  silent  for  a  moment,  and  then  went  on. 

"  It  will  not  be  wise,  or  right,  for  us  to  see  each  other 
often.  In  time,  you  will  meet  some  one  with  whom  you  can 
forget  the  pain  of  this  separation." 

Morton  shook  his  head. 

"  Yes  —  at  least  I  trust  you  will.  But  we  can  never 
forget  what  we  have  been  to  each  other.  Our  reality  is 
melted  into  a  dream,  but  we  must  not  allow  it  to  remain  a 
dream.  Let  it  be  to  us  a  fountain  of  high  thoughts,  whose 
streams  may  water  all  our  lives." 

"  You  are  an  alchemist,  Edith,"  said  Morton  ;  "  you  have 
found  the  secret  to  change  lead  and  iron  into  pure  gold. 


VASSALL   MORTON.  323 

And  yet  you  make  me  feel,  more  than  ever,  if  that  can  be, 
what  a  crown  I  have  lost." 

When  Morton  left  the  house,  after  a  half  hour's  interview, 
the  agitation  with  which  he  had  entered  it  had  sunk  into 
quiet ;  for  an  influence  had  fallen  upon  him  as  soothing  and 
elevating  as  if  he  had  been  listening  to  the  paschal  music  in 
the  chapel  of  the  choir  at  St.  Peter's.  And  as  an  aeronaut, 
tossed  among  tempestuous  clouds,  is  borne  of  a  sudden  above 
the  turmoil,  and  floats  serene  in  a  calmer  sky,  so  the  troubled 
mind  of  Morton  felt  itself  buoyed  up  for  a  space  above  the 
tumult  of  passionate  and  bitter  thought. 


CHAPTER   LVI. 

For  close  designs  and  crooked  counsels  fit, 
Sagacious,  bold,  and  turbulent  of  wit.  —  Dryden. 

ON  the  next  morning  he  was  walking  near  the  Court 
House,  when  a  man  accosted  him,  touching  his  hat  with  one 
hand,  and  holding  out  the  other  in  the  way  of  friendly  salu 
tation.  Morton,  however,  was  at  a  loss  to  recognize  him. 
He  had  an  air  which  may  most  conveniently  be  described  as 
raffish,  a  hat  set  on  one  side  of  his  head,  and  a  good-natured, 
easy,  devil-may-care  face. 

"  Richards  is  my  name,"  said  the  stranger.  "  I  met  you  at 
Paris,  just  before  you  went  into  Austria." 

This  was  quite  enough.  Morton,  who  had  repeatedly  re 
volved  all  the  circumstances  connected  with  his  arrest,  at 
once  recalled  the  accident  by  which  he  had  discovered  Rich 
ards  and  Vinal,  on  their  way  together  to  visit  Speyer.  Mor 
ton  determined  to  cultivate  this  new  acquaintance ;  which, 
however,  seemed  likely  to  grow  without  much  tillage. 

"  I  went  on  two  or  three  excursions  about  the  city  with 
you,  Mr.  Vinal,  and  the  rest.  Perhaps  you  have  not  forgot 
ten  it." 

"  Not  in  the  least ;  but  you  are  changed  since  then." 

"Yes,"  said  Richards,  touching  the  place  where  his  mous- 

(324) 


VASSALL   MOBTON.  325 

taches  had  once  grown,  "  I  cut  them  off  when  I  went  into 
practice  here  in  Boston.  I  found  they  were  ruining  my  char 
acter  as  a  professional  man." 

"  How  long  were  you  in  Paris  after  I  saw  you  ? " 
"  Two  years,  off  and  on.  I  wish  I  were  there  now."  And 
taking  Morton's  arm,  he  proceeded  to  catechize  him  touching 
his  imprisonment  and  escape,  of  which  he  said  he  had  first 
read  in  the  New  York  Herald.  Morton  satisfied  his  curios 
ity,  taking  care  to  give  him  no  suspicion  of  Speyer' s  connec 
tion  with  the  affair,  and  allowing  him  to  infer  that  the  arrest 
was  caused  by  an  accidental  concurrence  of  suspicious  cir 
cumstances.  Richards,  at  the  end,  broke  out  into  a  savage, 
red  republican  tirade  against  Metternich  and  the  Austrian 
government. 

"  By  the  way,"  said  Morton,  when  his  companion's  heat 
had  subsided,  "  do  you  happen  to  remember  a  man  called 
Speyer,  or  something  like  it,  —  a  republican  propagandist,  at 
Paris  ?  I  believe  you  knew  him." 

"  I  never  knew  any  body  else,"  replied  Richards,  adopting 
a  cis- Atlantic  figure  of  speech  for  which  rhetoricians  have  as 
yet  found  no  name. 

"  Do  you  know  where  he  is  now  ?  " 
"  What,  have  you  lent  money  to  Speyer,  too  ?  " 
"  He  is  heavily  in  my  debt,"  said  Morton,  evasively. 
"  That's  odd.     He  seems  to  have  been  borrowing  money 
all  round.     I  remember,  about  a  year  or  more  ago,  I  met  Mr. 
Vinal,  and  he  began  to  talk  about  Paris.     '  By  the  way,'  said 
he  to  me,  *  do  you  happen  to  remember  a  man  named  Spires, 
or  Speyers,  or  some  such  thing  ?     I  lent  him  five  hundred 
28 


326  VASSALL    MORTON. 

francs/  *  I  wish  you  may  get  it,'  said  I.  '  Well/  said  Vinal, 
*  I  have  a  friend  going  to  Paris,  who  will  try  what  can  be  done 
for  me.'  So  I  set  him  on  the  track.  I  don't  know  whether 
he  got  his  money  or  not,  but  I  saw  him  talking  with  Speyer 
in  the  street,  one  evening  last  spring,  and  Vinal  looked  as 
sour  as  if  he  had  swallowed  a  bottle  of  vitriol." 

"  Talking  with  Speyer  last  spring  !  "  repeated  Morton ; 
"  has  he  been  to  Paris  ?  " 

"  Speyer  has  come  out  to  America.  There  is  not  a  country 
in  Europe  but  has  grown  too  hot  for  him.  He  was  under 
surveillance  in  Paris,  all  the  time  I  knew  him." 

"  When  did  he  come  ? " 

"  Six  or  eight  months  ago." 

"  Where  is  he  to  be  found  ?  " 

"  In"  New  York,  chiefly.  If  you  could  have  caught  him 
when  he  was  here  in  Boston,  in  the  spring,  you  might  have 
got  something  out  of  him ;  for  he  seemed  flush  of  money." 

"  What,  after  you  saw  him  with  Vinal  ? " 

"Yes." 

"  Have  you  seen  him  more  than  once  in  Boston  ?  " 

"  Yes,  two  or  three  times." 

"  Is  he  in  New  York  now  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  so  ;  but  I  would  not  advise  your  trying  to  do 
any  thing  with  him.  You  had  better  pocket  your  loss,  and 
let  him  go.  However,  if  you  want  to  try,  I  can  refer  you  to 
a  man  who  can  probably  help  you  to  find  his  whereabouts." 

"  Thank  you ;  there's  no  harm  in  making  the  attempt.  I 
don't  know  Speyer  well.  What  kind  of  man  is  he  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  will  draw  his  portrait  for  you.     He  is  sly  as  a 


VASSALL  MORTON.  327 

fox  ;  always  contriving,  plotting,  and  working  under  ground. 
Intrigue  is  his  native  element.  He  takes  to  it  like  a  chame 
leon  to  air,  or  a  salamander  to  fire." 

"  An  artful,  managing  fellow,  not  bold  enough  to  make  a 
direct  attack  ? " 

"  Bold  !  There  is  nothing  on  the  earth,  or  under  it,  that 
he  fears.  He  will  not  make  a  direct  attack,  if  he  can  help  it, 
because  it  is  against  his  instinct ;  but  press  upon  him  — 
crowd  him  a  little  —  and  he  will  show  his  teeth  like  a  Bengal 
tiger.  He  is  always  in  hot  water ;  for  he  never  could  be 
happy  out  of  it.  He  has  his  weaknesses,  though.  A  woman 
whom  he  takes  a  fancy  to  can  turn  him  round  her  finger.  I 
never  knew  a  man  so  desperate  in  that  way,  or  such  a  devil 
incarnate  when  a  fit  of  jealousy  seizes  him." 

"You  draw  a  flattering  likeness  of  your  friend,"  said 
Morton. 

"  0,"  said  Richards,  laughing,  "  I  cut  half  my  foreign  ac 
quaintance,  now  that  I  am  at  home." 

Before  leaving  his  new  companion,  Morton  obtained  from 
him  the  name  and  direction  of  the  person  of  whom  he  had 
spoken  as  likely  to  know  where  Speyer  was  to  be  found. 
Left  alone  at  length,  he  pondered  on  what  he  had  heard :  — 

"  So  Vinal  applied  to  Richards,  to  learn  Speyer' s  address, 
when  he  wrote  to  him  to  report  me  dead.  Speyer  in  Amer 
ica  !  —  having  interviews  with  Vinal !  —  and  flush  of  money ! 
Can  it  be  possible  that  this  agent  of  his  villany  has  become 
the  instrument  of  his  punishment  ?  —  that  the  Furies  are  al 
ready  on  his  track  ?  If  Speyer  kept  Vinal' s  letter,  as,  under 
the  circumstances,  such  a  calculating  knave  would  be  apt  to 


328  TASSALL   MORTON. 

do,  he  has  that  in  his  hands  which  would  make  my  friend 
open  his  purse  strings ;  yes,  make  him  coin  his  life  blood,  to 
satisfy  him.  It  is  past  doubting ;  Vinal  has  it  now ;  this 
cormorant  is  preying  upon  him." 

That  afternoon  Morton  took  the  night  train  to  New  York, 
in  search  of  Speyer. 


CHAPTER   LVII. 

Though  those  that  are  betrayed 
Do  feel  the  treason  sharply,  yet  the  traitor 
Stands  in  worse  case  of  woe. — Cymbeline. 

VINAL  sat  alone,  propped  and  cushioned  in  an  arm  chair, 
when  a  clerk  from  his  office  came  to  hring  him  his  morning 
letters.  He  looked  over  the  superscriptions  till  he  saw  one 
in  a  foreign  hand.  Vinal  compressed  his  pale  lips.  When 
the  clerk  had  left  the  room,  he  glanced  ahout  him  nervously, 
tore  open  the  letter,  and  read  it  in  haste. 

"  The  bloodsucker !  Money  ;  more  money  !  He  soaks  it 
up  like  a  sponge ;  or,  rather,  I  am  the  sponge,  and  he  means 
to  wring  me  dry.  In  jail !  Well,  he  has  found  his  place,  for 
once.  Six  hundred  dollars  !  That,  I  suppose,  is  to  pay  his 
fine ;  to  uncage  the  wild  beast,  and  set  him  loose.  I  wish 
he  were  sentenced  for  ten  years  ;  then  he  might  lie  there,  and 
rot.  I  must  send  him  something  —  enough  to  keep  him  in 
play.  No,  I  will  send  him  nothing.  He  is  in  trouble ;  and 
I  may  turn  it  to  account.  I  will  write  to  him  that,  if  he  will 
return  me  my  letters,  I  will  give  him  a  thousand  dollars  now, 
and  an  annuity  of  five  hundred  for  six  years  to  come.  I  shall 
do  well  if  I  can  draw  the  viper's  teeth  at  that  price.  Then 
I  can  breathe  again ;  unless  Morton  should  have  suspected 
the  trick  I  played  him,  or  —  what  if  he  should  meet  with 
28  *  <329) 


330  VASSALL    MOETON 

Speyer !  But  that  is  not  likely,  for  he  never  knew  him,  nor 
saw  him,  and  Speyer  will  shun  him  as  he  would  the  plague. 
I  wish  they  had  shot  him  in  the  prison,  as  I  am  told  they 
meant  to  do.  There  would  have  been  one  stumbling  block 
away ;  one  lion  out  of  my  path.  But  now  the  sword  hangs 
over  me  by  a  hair ;  I  am  racked  and  torn  like  a  toad  under  a 
harrow ;  no  rest,  no  peace  !  What  if  Speyer  should  do  as  he 
threatens,  print  my  letters,  and  placard  them  about  the 
streets  !  I  will  buy  them  out  of  his  hands  if  it  cost  all  I 
have.  And  even  then  I  shall  not  be  safe,  as  long  as  this  ruf 
fian  is  above  ground.  With  him  and  Morton  to  haunt  me, 
my  life  is  a  slow  death,  a  purgatory,  a  hell." 

He  tore   Speyer's  letter  into   small  fragments,  rolled  and 
crushed  them  together,  and  scattered  them  under  the  grate. 


CHAPTER,    LVIII. 

When  rich  villains  have  need  of  poor  ones,  poor  ones  may  make  what  price  they  will. 

Much  Ado  about  Nothing. 

MOKTON  reached  New  York,  and  found  the  person  to  whom 
he  had  been  referred  by  Richards.  He  proved  to  be  a  Ger 
man,  of  respectable  appearance  enough ;  but  Morton  could 
learn  nothing  from  him.  He  admitted  that  he  had  once 
known  Speyer  ;  but  stubbornly  denied  all  present  knowledge 
concerning  him ;  and  after  various  inquiry  elsewhere,  which 
brought  him  into  contact  with  much  vile  company,  without 
helping  him  towards  his  end,  Morton  gave  over  the  search, 
and  returned  to  Boston. 

A  day  or  two  after,  he  met  Richards  in  the  street. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Richards,  I  was  in  New  York  the  other  day, 
and  saw  your  man  ;  but  he  knew  nothing  about  Speyer." 

Richards  laughed. 

"  I  dare  say  not ;  just  let  me  write  to  him ;  he  will  tell  me 
a  different  story.  I  used  to  be  hand  and  glove  with  all  these 
refugees  ;  and  I  will  lay  you  any  bet  I  find  Speyer' s  where 
abouts  within  a  week." 

Accordingly,  three  or  four  days  after,  Richards  called  at 
Morton's  lodgings,  with  an  air  of  great  self-satisfaction. 

"  I  have  spotted  your  game  for  you,  sir,  and  he  won't  run 

(331) 


332  VASSALL   MORTON. 

away  in  a  hurry,  either.  He'll  be  sure  to  wait  till  you  come. 
He's  in  jail." 

"  What,  for  debt  ?  " 

"  No,  for  an  assault  on  a  Frenchman.  It  was  about  a 
woman,  a  friend  of  Speyer's.  You  know  I  told  you  what  a 
jealous  fellow  he  is."  And  he  proceeded  to  recount  what 
further  information  he  had  gained. 

"  Odd,"  pondered  Richards,  after  parting  from  Morton, 
"  that  a  millionnaire  like  him,  and  not  at  all  a  mean  man 
either,  should  trouble  himself  so  much  about  any  picayune 
debt  that  Speyer  can  owe  him.  There  is  something  in  this 
business  more  than  I  can  make  out." 

While  Richards  occupied  himself  with  these  reflections, 
Morton  repaired  to  his  lodgings  and  made  his  preparations. 
On  the  next  morning,  he  was  in  New  York  again. 

He  went  to  the  jail  where  Speyer  was  confined,  and  readily 
gained  leave  to  see  him.  A  somewhat  loquacious  officer, 
who  was  to  conduct  him  to  the  prisoner's  room,  confirmed 
what  Richards  had  told  him,  and  gave  him  some  new  particu 
lars.  Speyer,  he  said,  had  never  before,  to  his  knowledge, 
come  under  the  notice  of  the  police.  He  had  been  living  in 
good  lodgings,  and  in  a  somewhat  showy  style.  The  person 
who  had  occasioned  the  quarrel  was  an  Italian  girl.  "  She 
comes  every  day  to  see  him,"  said  the  policeman  —  "  she's 
a  wild  one,  I  tell  you ;  and  he  frets  himself  to  death  because 
he  is  shut  up  here,  and  can't  be  round  to  look  after  her." 

"  So  much  the  better,"  thought  Morton,  who  hoped  that 
this  impatience  would  aid  him  in  his  intended  negotiation. 

"  For  how  long  a  time  is  he  sentenced  ?  "  he  asked. 


VASSALL    MOETON.  333 

"  For  three  weeks ;  unless  he  can  find  somebody  to  pay 
his  fine  for  him." 

On  entering  the  prisoner's  room,  Morton  saw  a  man  of 
about  forty,  well  dressed,  though  in  a  jail,  but  whose  sallow 
features,  deep-set  eyes,  and  square,  massive  lower  jaw,  well 
covered  with  a  black  beard,  indicated  a  character  likely  to  be 
any  thing  but  tractable.  If  he  had  been  either  a  gentleman 
on  the  one  hand,  or  a  common  ruffian  on  the  other,  his  visitor 
might  have  better  known  how  to  deal  with  him ;  but  he  had 
the  look  of  one  to  whom,  whatever  he  might  be  at  heart,  a 
various  contact  with  mankind  had  armed  with  an  invincible 
self-possession,  and  guarded  at  all  points  against  surprise. 

Morton  was  a  wretched  diplomatist,  and  had  sense  enough 
to  know  it.  He  knew  that  if  he  tried  to  manoeuvre  with  his 
antagonist,  the  latter  would  outflank  him  in  a  moment,  and 
he  had  therefore  resolved  on  a  sudden  and  direct  attack.  But 
when  he  saw  Speyer,  he  could  not  repress  a  lingering  doubt 
whether  he  were  in  fact  the  person  of  whom  he  was  in  search. 
His  chief  object  was  to  gain  from  him,  if  possible,  any  letters 
of  Vinal  which  might  be  in  his  hands.  There  was  no  direct 
evidence  that  he  had  any  such  letters  ;  yet  Morton  thought 
that  the  only  hope  of  success  lay  in  assuming  his  having  them 
as  a  certainty,  and  pretending  a  positive  knowledge,  where, 
in  truth,  he  had  no  other  ground  of  action  than  conjecture. 
So  he  smothered  his  doubts,  and  as  soon  as  the  policeman 
was  gone,  made  a  crashing  onset  on  the  enemy. 

"  My  name  is  Vassall  Morton.  I  escaped  four  months  ago 
from  the  Castle  of  Ehrenberg.  I  have  known  something  of 
you  through  Mr.  Vinal." 


334  VASSALL   MORTON. 

If  Morton  were  in  doubt  before,  all  his  doubts  were  now 
scattered,  for  a  look  of  irrepressible  surprise  passed  across 
Speyer's  features,  mingled  with  as  much  dismay  as  his  nature 
was  capable  of  feeling.  At  the  next  instant,  every  trace  of  it 
had  disappeared ;  and  slowly  shaking  his  head,  to  indicate 
unconsciousness,  he  looked  at  Morton  inquiringly,  with  an 
eye  perfectly  self-possessed  and  impenetrable.  His  visitor, 
however,  was  not  to  be  so  deceived. 

"  I  have  no  enmity  against  you,  nor  any  wish  to  injure 
you.  On  the  contrary,  I  will  pay  your  fine,  and  set  you  free, 
if  you  will  have  it  so.  You  have  letters  concerning  me, 
written  to  you  by  Vinal.  Give  them  to  me,  and  I  will  do  as 
I  say.  No  harm  shall  come  to  you,  and  I  will  give  you 
money  to  carry  you  to  any  part  of  the  world  you  wish." 

"  What  letters  ? "  asked  Speyer. 

"  We  will  have  no  bush-beating.  You  wish  to  get  out  of 
jail,  and  have  good  reason  for  wishing  to  get  out  at  once. 
If  you  will  give  me  those  letters,  you  shall  be  free  in  three 
hours,  and  safe.  If  you  will  not,  I  may  give  you  some 
trouble." 

Speyer  was  silent  for  a  moment. 

'*  I  know  the  letters  are  of  use  to  you.  You  can  play  a 
profitable  game  with  them ;  but  I  can  stop  your  game  at  any 
moment  I  please." 

"  I  can  get  four  thousand  dollars  for  them  to-morrow," 
said  Speyer. 

"  Then  why  are  you  here  in  jail  ?" 

"  Vinal  offers  it ;  here  it  is."  And  taking  a  note  from  his 
pocket,  Speyer  read  Vinal' s  proposal  to  buy  the  letters. 


VASSALL   MORTON.  335 

"  Let  me  see  it,"  said  Morton,  taking  the  note  from 
Speyer's  hand.  "  This,  of  itself,  is  evidence  against  him. 
With  your  leave,  I  will  keep  it.  Now  hear  my  offer.  Give 
me  the  letters,  and  I  will  pay  your  fine.  Then  go  with  me 
to  Boston,  and  I  will  make  Vinal  pay  you  on  the  spot  every 
dollar  that  he  has  offered,  on  condition  that  you  promise  to 
leave  the  United  States,  and  never  return." 

Speyer  reflected.  He  came  to  the  conclusion  that  Morton 
did  not  mean  to  expose  Vinal ;  but  only,  like  himself,  to 
extort  money  from  him ;  and  wished  that  he,  Speyer,  should 
leave  the  country  in  order  to  get  rid  of  a  competitor.  Mor 
ton's  object  was  quite  different.  He  could  not  foresee  to 
what  extremities  Speyer's  extortion  might  drive  its  victim ; 
and  he  aimed  to  check  it,  by  no  means  out  of  any  tenderness 
for  Vinal,  but  lest  his  wife  might  suffer  from  its  consequences. 

Speyer,  on  his  part,  fevered  with  jealousy,  was  chafing  to 
be  at  large  again. 

"  When  will  you  pay  my  fine  ?  " 

"  Now." 

"  Then  I  accept  your  proposal." 

"  Can  I  rely  on  your  promise  to  leave  the  country,  and 
make  no  further  drafts  on  Vinal  ?  " 

Speyer  cast  a  glance  at  him,  as  if  he  had  read  his  mind. 

"  I  will  promise." 

"  Will  you  swear  ?  " 

Speyer  readily  took  the  oath,  insisting  that  Morton  should 
swear  in  turn  to  keep  his  part  of  the  condition. 

"  Now  let  me  see  the  letters." 

"  I  must  send  to  my  lodgings  for  them.  If  you  will  come 
back  in  two  hours,  you  shall  have  them." 


336  VASSALL    MORTON. 

"  I  should  have  thought  you  would  keep  them  by  you." 

'*  No  ;  but  they  are  safe.  Come  back  at  twelve  with  the 
money  for  my  fine,  and  they  shall  be  here  for  you." 

Morton  had  no  sooner  left  the  room,  than  Speyer  despatched 
an  underling  of  the  jail  to  buy  for  him  a  few  sheets  of  the 
thin,  half- transparent  paper  in  common  use  for  European 
correspondence.  This  being  brought,  he  opened  his  trunk, 
and  delving  to  the  bottom,  drew  up  a  leather  case,  from  which 
he  took  the  letters  in  question.  Laying  the  thin  paper  over 
them,  he  proceeded  to  trace  with  a  pen  an  exact  facsimile. 
He  was  well  practised  at  such  work,  and  after  one  or  two 
failures,  succeeded  perfectly.  Folding  his  counterfeits  after 
the  manner  of  the  originals,  he  placed  them  in  the  envelopes 
belonging  to  the  latter  ;  and  within  a  half  hour  after  his  task 
was  finished,  Morton  reappeared. 

Speyer  gave  him  one  of  the  facsimiles.  He  read  it  atten 
tively,  without  seeing  the  imposture.  The  handwriting, 
though  disguised,  was  evidently  Vinal's ;  but  it  had  neither 
the  signature  of  the  writer,  nor  Morton's  name.  The  place 
of  each  was  supplied  by  a  cipher. 

"  Reference  is  made  here  to  another  letter.    Where  is  it  ?  " 

Speyer  gave  him  the  second  counterfeit.  The  envelope 
bore  a  postmark  of  a  few  days  later  than  the  first.  The 
note  contained  merely  the  names  of  Morton  and  Vinal,  with 
ciphers  affixed,  referring  to  those  in  the  first  letter. 

"  Have  you  no  more  of  Vinal's  papers  ?  " 

Speyer  shook  his  head.  Indeed,  the  letters,  if  genuine, 
would  have  been  amply  sufficient  to  place  their  writer  in 
Morton's  power.  The  latter  at  once  took  the  necessary  meas- 


VASSALL    MORTON,,  337 

ures  to  gain  the  prisoner's  release.  Speyer  no  sooner  found 
himself  at  liberty  than  he  hastened  to  search  but  the  fair 
object  of  his  anxieties,  promising  to  meet  Morton  on  the 
steamboat  for  Boston  in  the  afternoon.  His  doubts  were 
strong  whether  the  other  would  keep  faith  with  him  ;  but  he 
amply  consoled  himself  with  the  thought  that,  at  the  worst, 
he  still  had  means  to  bring  Vinal  to  terms. 
29 


CHAPTER   LIX. 


What  spectre  can  the  charnel  send 

So  dreadful  as  an  injured  Mend  ? — Rokeby. 


"  STKANGE,"  thought  Vinal,  "  that  I  hear  nothing  from 
him." 

It  was  three  days  since  he  had  written  to  Speyer ;  and  his 
chief  anxiety  was,  lest  his  note  should  have  miscarried. 
Pain  and  long  confinement  had  wrought  heavily  upon  him. 
Every  emotion,  every  care,  thrilled  with  a  morbid  keenness 
upon  his  brain  and  nerves ;  but  hitherto  he  had  ruled  his 
sensitive  organism  with  an  iron  self-control,  and  calmed  its 
perturbations  with  a  fortitude  which  in  a  better  man  would 
have  been  heroic. 

His  wife  was  in  the  room,  and,  as  his  eye  rested  on  her,  i 
kindled  with  a  kind  of  troubled  delight,  for  he  loved  he: 
strongly,  after  his  fashion.  He  had  remarked  of  late  a  singu 
lar  assiduity  and  tenderness  in  her  devotion  to  him.  Her 
position,  in  fact,  was  not  unlike  that  of  one  who,  broken  and 
overborne  by  some  irreparable  sorrow,  had  renounced  the 
world  and  its  happiness,  to  embrace  a  new  life,  and  build  up 
for  herself  a  new  hope  in  the  calm  sanctuary  of  a  convent. 
In  the  same  spirit,  Edith  Leslie,  bidding  farewell  to  her  girl 
ish  dream  of  life,  its  morning  rose  tint,  and  cloud  draperies 

(338) 


: 


VASSALL    MORTON.  839 

of  gold  and  purple,  gave  herself  to  the  practical  duties  before 
her,  and  sought,  in  their  devoted  fulfilment,  to  strengthen  her 
self  against  the  flood  which  for  a  time  had  overwhelmed  her. 

Vinal,  who,  acute  as  he  was,  could  not  understand  the 
state  of  mind  from  which  her  peculiar  kindness  of  manner 
towards  him  rose,  pleased  himself  with  the  idea  that  his 
rival's  return  was  not  so  great  a  shock  to  her  as  he  had  at 
first  feared,  and  that,  after  all,  she  was  more  fond  of  him 
than  of  Morton.  This  notion  consoled  his  disturbed  thoughts 
not  a  little.  Still  he  was  abundantly  anxious  and  harassed. 

"  If  Morton  should  suspect !  He  has  not  come  to  see  me  ; 
but  that  is  natural  enough,  under  the  circumstances.  And  if 
he  does  suspect,  he  can  have  no  proof.  No  one  here  suspects 
me.  They  say  it  was  strange  that  my  European  correspond 
ent  should  have  made  such  a  mistake  ;  but  that  is  all.  No 
one  dreams  that  I  had  a  hand  in  it ;  and  why  should  they  ? 
No  one  knew  of  Edith's  engagement  to  him,  except  herself, 
her  father,  and  her  confidantes.  I  suppose  she  has  confi 
dantes  —  all  girls  have  them.  I  wish  their  epitaphs  were 
written,  whoever  they  are.  Well, 

'  Come  what  come  may, 
Time  and  the  hour  run  through  the  roughest  day.' 

But  this  is  a  dangerous  business  —  a  cursed  business.  Why 
does  not  Speyer  write  ?  " 

As  his  thoughts  ran  in  this  strain,  he  looked  up,  and  his 
eye  caught  that  of  his  wife.  She  was  struck  with  his  troubled 
expression. 

"  You  look  anxious  and  care-worn.     Are  you  ill  ?  " 


340  VASSALL    MOKTON. 

"  Come  to  me,  Edith,"  said  Vinal,  with  a  faint  smile. 

She  came  to  the  side  of  his  chair,  and  he  took  her  hand. 

"  Edith,  I  am  not  well  to-day.  My  head  swims.  This 
long  confinement  is  eating  away  my  life  by  inches." 

"  In  a  week  more,  I  trust,  you  will  be  able  to  move  again. 
The  country  air  will  give  you  new  life.  But  why  do  you 
look  so  troubled  ?  " 

"  Dreams,  Edith,  —  bad  dreams,  like  Hamlet's,  I  suppose. 
It  is  very  strange,  —  I  cannot  imagine  why  it  is,  —  but  to-day 
I  have  felt  oppressed,  weighed  down,  shadowed  as  if  a  cloud 
hung  over  me.  I  am  not  myself.  A  man  is  a  mere  slave  to 
his  nervous  system,  and  when  that  is  overthrown,  his  whole 
soul  is  shaken  with  it.  The  country  is  my  hope,  Edith. 
We  will  go  there  together,  soon,  and  begin  life  anew." 

A  knock  at  the  door  interrupted  him. 

"  Come  in,"  cried  Vinal,  in  his  usual  quick,  decisive  tone. 

A  servant  entered. 

«  Well,  what  is  it  ?  " 

"  A  gentleman  wishes  to  see  you,  sir." 

"  Did  he  give  his  name  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Edwards,  sir." 

"  Ask  him  to  come  up." 

"  A  man  whom  I  expected  this  morning  on  business,"  he 
said,  in  explanation  to  his  wife,  as  the  servant  closed  the 
door.  "  I  wish  he  were  any  wrhere  but  here.  And  so  you 
are  going  away."  —  She  was  dressed  to  go  out.  —  "  He  will 
be  here  only  a  moment ;  do  not  be  gone  long." 

"  No,  I  will  be  with  you  again  in  an  hour." 

"  Do  not  forget,"  said  Vinal,  pressing  her  hand,  "  for  when 


VASSALL   MORTON.  341 

you   leave   the   room,    Edith,   it   is   as  if  a   sunbeam   were 
shut  out." 

As  Vinal,  sick  in  body  and  mind,  thus  leaned  in  his  distress 
on  the  victim  of  his  villany,  he  cast  into  her  face  a  look  that 
was  almost  piteous.  She,  seeing  nothing  but  his  love  for  her, 
warmed  towards  him  with  compassion ;  the  more  so  since, 
till  that  moment,  she  had  known  him  as  a  calm,  firm  man,  a 
model,  to  her  eyes,  of  masculine  self-government.  A  mind 
tortured  with  suspense,  acting  upon  a  weak  and  morbidly 
sensitive  body,  had  betrayed  him  into  this  unwonted  imbe 
cility. 

The  step  of  the  visitor  sounded  in  the  passage  ;  and  return 
ing  the  pressure  of  his  hand,  his  wife  went  out  at  the  door 
of  a  small  adjoining  room,  opening  upon  the  side  passage  by 
which  she  commonly  entered  and  left  the  hotel. 

After  a  few  minutes'  interview,  Edwards  took  his  leave,  and 
Vinal,  left  alone,  fell  into  his  former  train  of  thought.  In  a 
moment,  he  was  again  interrupted  by  a  knock  at  the  door, 
quite  unlike  the  hasty  rap  of  the  hotel  servant. 

"  Come  in,"  cried  Vinal. 

The  door  opened,  and  Vassall  Morton  entered.  He  had 
learned  from  the  retiring  visitor  that  Vinal  was  alone. 

"  My  dear  fellow  !  "  exclaimed  Vinal,  his  face  beaming 
with  a  transport  of  welcome.  "  My  dear  fellow  !  " 

But  Morton  stood  without  taking  his  proffered  hand.  The 
smile  remained  frozen  on  Vinal' s  face,  and  cold  drops  of 
doubt  and  fear  began  to  gather  on  his  forehead. 

"  There  is  another  friend  of  yours  in  the  passage,"  said 
Morton.  —  "  Come  in,  Speyer." 
29* 


342  YASSALL    MORTON. 

Speyer  entered,  bowing  with  his  usual  composure.  Vinal 
sank  bank  in  his  chair,  collapsing  like  a  man  withered  with  a 
palsy  stroke. 

"  Vinal,"  said  Morton,  after  a  silence  of  some  moments, 
"  you  have  a  cool  way  of  receiving  your  acquaintances." 

He  made  no  answer,  but  still  sat,  or  rather  crouched,  in 
the  depths  of  his  easy  chair,  where  the  thick  bounding  of 
his  heart  almost  choked  him.  Morton  stood  for  some  time 
longer,  looking  at  him.  He  had  not  reached  such  a  point  of 
Christian  forgiveness  as  not  to  find  pleasure  in  his  enemy's 
tortures,  and  he  saw  that  his  silence  tortured  him  more  than 
words. 

"  Vinal,"  he  said  at  length,  "  I  used  to  know  you  in  col 
lege  for  a  liar  and  a  coward  ;  and  since  then  you  have  grown 
well  in  both  ways.  You  have  hatched  into  a  full-fledged 
villain  ;  and  now  that  I  have  found  you  out,  you  crouch  like 
a  whipped  cur." 

No  answer  was  returned,  and  Morton's  anger  began  to 
yield  to  a  different  feeling.  If  he  could  have  seen  the  con 
dition  of  Vinal's  mind  and  body,  he  might,  between  pity  and 
contempt,  have  spared  him. 

"  I  came  to  upbraid  you  with  your  knaveries  ;  but  I  find 
you  hardly  worth  the  trouble.  Do  you  see  this  letter  ?  It  is 
the  same  that  you  wrote  to  this  man  at  Marseilles,  instructing 
him  to  forge  a  story  that  I  was  dead,  and  that  he  had  seen 
my  gravestone,  with  my  mother's  family  device  upon  it. 
Will  you  dare  deny  that  you  wrote  it  ?  You  will  not !  I 
thought  as  much.  I  have  unravelled  you  from  first  to  last. 
Five  years  ago,  you  bribed  Speyer,  here,  to  compromise  me 


VASSALL    MORTON.  343 

with  the  Austrian  police.  Pretending  to  be  my  friend,  you 
gave  me  letters  which  betrayed  me  into  a  prison,  where  you 
hoped  that  I  would  end  my  days  ;  and,  next,  you  contrived 
this  trickery  to  prove  me  dead.  Is  there  any  name  in  the 
English  tongue  too  vile  to  mark  you  r  " 

Vinal  sat  as  if  stricken  dumb. 

"  I  know  your  reputation,"  pursued  Morton.  "  You  are 
in  high  feather  here.  You  pass  for  a  man  of  virtue,  integrity, 
and  honor.  You  make  speeches  at  public  meetings  ;  Fourth 
of  July  orations  ;  Phi  Beta  orations  ;  charity  harangues  — 
any  thing  that  smacks  of  philanthropy  and  goodness  ;  any 
thing  that  will  varnish  you  in  the  public  eye.  Why  am  I 
not  bound  to  lay  bare  this  whitewashed  lie  ?  What  with 
holds  me  from  grinding  you  like  a  scorpion  under  my  boot- 
heel,  or  flinging  you  on  the  pavement  to  be  stared  at  like  a 
scotched  viper  ?  A  word  from  me,  and  you  are  ruined. 
You  need  not  fear  it.  Stay,  and  enjoy  your  honors  as  you 
can  ;  but  my  foot  shall  be  on  your  neck.  This  letter  of 
yours  is  the  spell  by  which  I  will  rule  you,  body  and  soul." 

Here  he  paused  again  ;  but  Vinal's  tongue  was  powerless. 

u  I  tell  you  again,  for  I  would  not  have  you  desperate,  that 
I  do  not  mean  to  ruin  you.  Bear  yourself  wisely,  and  you 
are  safe,  at  least  from  me.  Have  you  lost  your  speech  ?  Are 
you  turned  dumb  ?  " 

Vinal  muttered  inarticulately. 

"  There  is  another  danger  which  I  have  done  my  best  to 
ward  off  from  you.  This  man,  who  had  you  at  his  mercy, 
has  sworn  to  leave  the  country,  and  never  to  return  ;  on 
which  score  you  will  please  to  pay  him  the  money  you  offered 
him  for  the  purchase  of  your  letters." 


344  VASSALL    MORTON. 

Vinal  seemed  confused  and  stupefied,  and  Morton  was 
forced  to  be  more  explicit  in  his  demands.  At  length,  the 
former  signed  a  note  for  the  amount,  though  not  without 
stammering  objections  to  his  name  appearing  on  it  in  connec 
tion  with  Speyer's.  Morton,  however,  turned  a  deaf  ear  to 
these  remonstrances. 

"  Here  is  your  pay,"  he  said  to  Speyer.  "  Any  bank  will 
discount  this  for  you.  Now,  to  what  place  do  you  mean 
to  go  ?  " 

"  To  Venezuela..  I  have  a  friend  there  in  the  army.  He 
will  get  a  commission  for  me." 

"  Very  well.  See  that  you  stay  there  ;  or,  at  all  events, 
do  not  come  back  to  the  United  States.  If  you  do,  you  will 
perjure  yourself.  Now,  go  ;  I  have  done  with  you.  Vinal, 
I  will  leave  you  to  your  reflections  ;  and  when  you  can  sleep 
in  peace,  free  from  Speyer's  persecutions,  remember  to  whom 
you  owe  it." 

Vinal  sat  like  a  withered  plant,  his  head  sinking  between 
his  shoulders,  while  his  hand,  still  unconsciously  holding  the 
pen,  rested  on  the  arm  of  his  chair.  There  was  something 
in  his  appearance  at  once  so  abject  and  so  piteous,  that  a 
changed  feeling  came  over  Morton  as  he  looked  on  him.  By 
a  sudden  impulse,  akin  to  pity,  he  stepped  towards  him,  and 
took  his  wrist.  The  pen  dropped  from  his  pale  fingers, 
which  quivered  like  an  aspen  bough  ;  and  as  Morton  stood 
gazing  on  him,  Vinal' s  upturned  eyes  met  his,  as  if  riveted 
there  by  a  helpless  fascination. 

.  "  You  unhappy  wretch  !     You  are  burning  already  with 
the  pains  of  the  damned.     Flint  and  iron  could  not  see  you 


VASSALL   MORTON.  345 

without  softening.  I  have  saved  you,  —  not  out  of  mercy, 
nor  forgiveness,  —  not  for  your  sake ;  —  but  I  have  saved  you. 
I  have  pushed  away  the  sword  that  hung  over  you  by  a  hair. 
You  are  free  now  to  be  happy." 

But  as  he  spoke  this  last  word,  so  fierce  a  pang  shot  into 
his  heart,  remembering  what  he  had  lost,  and  what  Vinal  had 
won,  that  his  pity  was  scattered  like  mist  before  a  thunder 
squall.  He  flung  back  the  passive  hand  against  the  breast 
of  its  terrified  owner,  turned  abruptly,  and  left  the  room. 

No  sooner  had  the  door  closed  behind  him,  than  the  door 
of  the  anteroom  opposite  was  flung  open,  and  Edith  Leslie, 
rushing  in,  stood  before  Vinal  with  the  wild  look  of  one  who 
gasps  for  breath.  She  attempted  to  speak,  but  broken  words 
and  inarticulate  sounds  were  all  her  lips  would  utter. 
Strength  failed  her  in  the  effort,  and  pressing  her  hands  to 
her  forehead,  she  sank  fainting  to  the  floor. 


CHAPTER    LX. 


I  will  not  go  with  thee ; 
I  will  instruct  my  sorrows  to  be  proud.  —  King  Jo7m. 


Ox  the  next  morning,  Yinal  learned  that  his  wife  was  ill, 
and  confined  to  her  room  in  her  father's  house.  On  the  day 
following,  he  was  told  that  she  was  no  better ;  but  on  the 
third  morning,  a  letter,  in  her  handwriting,  was  given  him. 
He  opened  it,  and  read  as  follows  :  — 

I  heard  all.  I  have  learned,  at  last,  to  know  you.  These 
were  your  bad  dreams !  This  was  the  cloud  that  overshad 
owed  you  !  No  wonder  that  your  eye  was  anxious,  your 
forehead  wrinkled,  and  your  cheek  pale.  To  have  led  that 
brave  and  loyal  heart  through  months  and  years  of  anguish  ! 
—  to  have  buried  him  from  the  light  of  day!  —  to  have 
buried  him  in  darkness  and  despair,  if  despair  could  ever  touch 
a  soul  like  his  !  And  there  he  would  have  been  lost  forever, 
if  you  had  had  your  will,  —  if  a  higher  hand  had  not  been 
outstretched  to  save  him.  One  whom  you  dared  not  meet 
face  to  face ;  one  as  far  above  your  sphere  as  the  eagle  is 
above  the  serpent  to  which  he  likened  you  !  You  have  taught 
me  how  sin  can  cringe  and  cower  under  the  anger  of  a  true 
and  deeply  outraged  man.  That  I  should  have  lived  to  hear 

(346) 


VASSALL    MORTON.  847 

my  husband  called  a  villain  !  —  and  still  live  to  tell  him  that 
the  word  was  just !  My  husband  !  You  are  not  my  hus 
band.  It  was  not  a  criminal,  a  traitorous  wretch,  whom  I 
pledged  myself  to  love  and  honor.  You  have  insnared  me ; 
you  have  me,  for  a  time,  safely  entangled  in  your  meshes. 
The  same  cause  which  led  me  to  this  yoke  must  withhold  me 
from  casting  it  off.  I  cannot  imbitter  my  father's  dying  mo 
ments.  I  cannot  bring  distress  and  horror  to  his  tranquil 
death  bed.  For  his  sake,  I  will  play  the  hypocrite,  and 
stoop  to  pass  in  the  world's  eye  as  your  wife.  For  the  few 
weeks  he  has  to  live,  I  will  lodge,  if  I  must,  under  your  roof; 
I  will  sit,  if  I  must,  at  your  table ;  but  when  my  father  is 
gone,  let  the  world  impute  to  me  what  blame  it  will,  I  will 
leave  you  forever.  You  need  not  fear  that  I  shall  expose 
your  crimes.  If  he  could  spare  you,  it  does  not  become  me 
to  speak.  Live  on,  and  make  what  atonement  you  may ; 
but  meanwhile  there  is  a  gulf  between  us  wider  than  death. 

EDITH  LESLIE. 

An  accident,  arising  out  of  her  very  devotion  to  Vinal,  had 
made  known  his  secret  to  her.  In  the  anteroom  which  led 
from  the  side  passage  of  the  hotel  to  his  apartment,  and 
through  which,  on  the  morning  of  his  interview  with  Morton, 
she  had  intended  to  pass  on  her  way  out,  was  a  table,  covered 
with  books  and  engravings,  with  which  the  invalid  had  been 
amusing  his  leisure.  The  sight  of  them  reminded  her  that 
she  had  promised  to  get  for  him  a  series  of  German  etchings, 
which  he  had  expressed  a  wish  to  see.  She  seated  her 
self,  to  write  a  request  to  the  friend  who  had  them,  that 


348  VASSALL    MORTON. 

he  would  send  them  to  the  hotel.  Her  hand  was  on  the 
bell,  to  call  the  servant,  when  the  peculiarly  emphatic  and 
earnest  manner  with  which  Vinal  greeted  some  new  visitor 
caught  her  attention.  The  door  had  sprung  ajar  on  the  lock  ; 
the  speakers  were  very  near  it,  and  Morton's  tone  was  none 
of  the  softest.  She  remained  as  if  charmed  to  her  seat ;  and 
every  word  fell  on  her  ear  as  clearly  as  if  she  had  stood  in 
the  same  room. 


CHAPTER   LXI. 


I  hold  the  world  but  as  the  world,  Gratiano, 
A  stage  where,  every  man  must  play  a  part, 
And  mine  a  sad  one.  —  Merchant  of  Venice. 

The  past  is  past.    I  see  the  future  stretch 

All  dark  and  barren  as  a  rainy  sea.  —  Alexander  Smith. 


MORTON  took  possession  again  of  his  house  in  the  coun 
try,  which  still  remained  in  the  keeping  of  one  of  his  humble 
relatives,  into  whose  charge  he  had  given  it.  He  turned  the 
key  of  his  long-deserted  library.  A  loving  influence  had 
presided  here  in  his  absence,  and,  even  when  he  was  given  up 
for  lost,  every  thing  had  been  scrupulously  kept  as  he  had 
left  it. 

Here  he  immured  himself;  avoided  all  society  but  that  of 
a  few  personal  friends  ;  and  by  plunging  into  the  studies 
which  had  formerly  engrossed  him,  tried  to  escape  the  perse 
cution  of  his  own  thoughts.  It  was  a  forced  and  painful 
task.  The  marks  in  his  books,  the  pencil  notes  on  their  mar 
gins,  his  voluminous  piles  of  memoranda,  were  all  so  many 
sharp  memorials  of  the  past,  to  remind  him  that  he  was  re 
suming  in  darkness  and  despondency  the  work  that  he  had 
left  in  sunshine. 

In  process  of  time,  however,  his  ancient  interest  in  his 
30 


TASSALL    MORTON. 

favorite  pursuit  began  to  rekindle.  He  began  to  feel  that 
the  years  of  his  imprisonment  had  not  been  the  dead  and 
barren  blank  which  he  had  inclined  to  think  them.  His  mind 
had  ripened  in  its  solitude,  and  the  studies  which  he  had 
before  followed  with  the  zeal  of  a  bo'y,  more  eager  than  able 
to  deal  with  the  broad  questions  which  they  involved,  he 
could  now  grasp  with  the  matured  intellect  of  a  man. 

But  while  Morton  was  thus  laboring  on,  Edith  Leslie  was 
passing  through  an  ordeal  incomparably  more  severe.  Month 
after  month  dragged  on,  and  her  father  still  lingered,  sinking 
again  and  again  to  the  very  edge  of  the  grave,  and  then  rally 
ing,  as  if  with  a  fresh  life.  Vinal,  meanwhile,  was  in  a  good 
measure  recovered  from  the  effects  of  his  accident.  His  home 
and  hers,  if  it  could  be  called  a  home,  was  now  a  house  in 
town,  which  her  father  had  fitted  up  for  her  in  view  of  her 
marriage.  She  had  a  painful  and  delicate  part  to  act  —  at  her 
father's  bedside,  to  appear  as  the  happy  and  contented  wife ;  i 
at  home,  to  endure  the  presence  of  the  man  whose  treachery 
filled  her  with  horror,  and  whose  love  for  her,  though  she  had 
never  spoken  a  word  of  reproof,  had  changed  into  fear  and 
hatred.  Of  his  actual  presence,  however,  she  had  to  endure 
little  ;  for  he  shunned  her  studiously  ;  and  her  house  was  to 
her  a  solitude,  where  she  passed  hours  of  a  suffering  more 
intense  than  Morton  had  ever  known  in  the  dungeons  of 
Ehrenberg. 

Meanwhile,  the  servants,  those  domestic  spies,  did  not  fail 
to  rumor  abroad  the  singular  mode  of  life  of  the  brid^  and 
bridegroom ;  that  Vinal  avoided  the  house ;  that  they  seldo 


YASSALL    MORTON.  35V 

• 

met,  even  at  meals  ;  and  that  no  word  or  look  of  sympathy  or 
confidence  seemed  ever  to  pass  between  them.  Such  rumors 
found  their  currency  among  the  busier  gossips  of  the  town ; 
but  Morton,  secluded  among  his  books,  remained  wholly  ig 
norant  of  them. 


CHAPTER,    LXII. 

Old  friends,  like  old  swords,  still  are  trusted  best.  —  Webster. 

IT  was  nearly  a  year  since  he  had  landed  at  New  York,  and 
Morton  still  remained  a  literary  hermit.  Society  was  stale 
and  distasteful  to  him.  He  passed  three  fourths  of  his  day 
in  his  library,  and  the  rest  on  horseback.  At  length,  how 
ever^  it  happened  that  a  cousin  of  his  mother,  one  of  his  few 
relatives  in  the  city,  was  to  give  a  ball  on  occasion  of  her 
daughter's  debut ;  and  lest  his  refusal  should  be  thought  un 
kind,  Morton  promised  to  come.  He  drove  to  town  in  the 
afternoon ;  and  walking  through  a  somewhat  obscure  street, 
suddenly,  on  turning  a  corner,  saw,  some  four  or  five  rods 
before  him,  a  well-remembered  face.  It  was  the  face  of 
Henry  Speyer.  The  discovery  was  mutual.  Speyer  instantly 
turned  down  a  by-lane.  Morton  quickened  his  pace,  and 
reached  the  head  of  the  lane  in  time  to  see  the  broad  shoul 
ders  of  the  patriot  in  full  retreat.  He  soon  lost  sight  of  him 
among  a  wilderness  of  back  yards  and  squalid  houses.  The 
incident  greatly  disturbed  and  exasperated  him.  "  A  broken 
oath  is  nothing  to  him,"  he  thought  to  himself;  "he  is  at 
Vinal  again,  dragging  at  his  veins  like  a  vampire." 

The  evening  drew  on,  and  he  entered  the  ball  room  in  a 
gloomy  and  dejected  frame  of  mind.  After  a  few  words  to 

(352) 


VASSALL    MORTON.  353 

his  relatives,  he  took  his  stand  among  a  group  who  were 
watching  the  dancers;  and  had  scarcely  done  so,  when. he 
saw  a  young  lady,  simply,  but  very  richly  dressed,  whose  fine 
figure  and  powerfully  expressive  beauty  arrested  his  eye  at 
once.  The  indifference  and  listlessness  with  which  he  had 
entered  vanished.  He  soon  observed  that  she  was  not  an 
object  of  attention  to  him  alone  ;  for  near  him -stood  a  certain 
old  beau,  well  known  about  town,  and  a  young  collegian, 
both  following  her  with  their  eyes.  The  music  ceased,  and 
her  partner  led  her  to  a  seat  at  the  farther  side  of  the  room. 
Glancing  at  his  two  neighbors,  Morton  saw  that  they  were  in 
the  act  of  moving  towards  her  ;  but  he,  being  nearer,  had  the 
advantage.  Gliding  through  the  dissolving  fragments  of  the 
dance,  he  stood  by  her  side. 

"  Miss  Fanny  Euston,  I  see  two  persons  coming  to  ask  you 
to  dance.  May  I  hope  that  you  will  reject  them  for  an  old 
friend's  sake,  and  let  me  be  your  partner?  " 

She  raised  her  eyes  with  a  perplexed  look,  which  instantly 
changed  to  a  bright  gleam  of  recognition,  and  cordially  took 
his  proffered  hand. 

"So,"  said  Morton,  "you  have  not  forgotten  me.  And 
yet,  as  I  see  you,  I  hardly  dare  to  take  up  again  the  broken 
thread  of  our  old  intimacy.  I  used  to  call  you  Fanny." 

*'  Call  me  Fanny  still,"  she  said,  "  if  only  for  the  memory 
of  auld  lang  syne." 

"  I  hoped  to  have  seen  you  before,  but  you  have  been 
away." 

"  Yes,  with  my  relations,  and  yours,  at  Baltimore.  I  have 
heard  a  great  deal  about  you.  Your  story  is  the  talk  of  the 
30* 


354  VASSALL    MORTON. 

town.     You  might  be  the  lion  of  the  season ;  but  I  have  not 
seen  you  at  parties." 

"  No,  I  have  outlived  my  liking  for  such  matters." 
"  I  cannot  wonder  at  it.    What  horrors  you  have  suffered ! 
what  dangers  you  have  passed  !  " 
"  I  have  weathered  them,  though." 
"  You  were  more  than  four  years  in  a  dungeon." 
"  Yes,  but  I  gave  them  the  slip." 
"  You  were  led  out  to  be  shot  by  the  soldiers." 
"  They  thought  better  of  it,  and  saved  their  ammunition." 
"And  yet  I  see,"  said  Miss  Euston,  smiling,  "  that  you  still 
remain  your  former  self.     I  remember  telling  you  that,  if  you 
were  sentenced  to  the  rack,  you  would  go  to  it  with  a  gibe 
on  your  tongue,  and  speak  of  it  afterwards  as  a  pleasant  di 
version.     But,"  she  added,  with  a  changed  look,  "  you  have 
not  come  off  unscathed.     Your  face  is  darker  and  thinner 
than  it  used  to  be,  and  there  are  lines  in  it  that  were  not 
there  before." 

"  Fortune  fondled  me  till  she  grew  tired  of  me  ;  then 
turned  at  me,  tooth  and  nail." 

"  You  banter  with  your  lips,  but  your  look  belies  your 
words.  You  have  suffered  greatly ;  you  have  suffered  in 
tensely." 

Morton  looked  grave  in  spite  of  himself. 
"  Perhaps  you  are  right.     I  have  very  little  heart  left  for 
jesting." 

The  eyes  of  his  companion,  as  they  met  his,  assumed  a  pe 
culiar  softness. 

"  You  must  have  suffered  beyond  all  power  of  words  to 


VASSALL    MORTON.  355 

speak  it.  The  world  to  you  was  fresh  and  full  of  interest. 
You  were  ambitious  ;  full  of  ardor  and  energy  ;  loving  hard 
ship  for  its  own  sake,  and  obstacles  for  the  sake  of  conquering 
them.  You  were  formed  for  action.  It  was  your  element  — 
your  breath  ;  and  without  it  you  did  not  care  to  live.  You 
were  high  in  confidence,  and  believed  that  whatever  you  had 
once  resolved  on  must,  sooner  or  later,  come  to  pass." 

"  Why  are  you  saying  this  ?  "  demanded  Morton,  in  great 
surprise. 

"  Out  of  this  life  you  were  suddenly  snatched  and  buried 
in  a  dungeon  ;  shut  off  from  all  intercourse  with  men ;  your 
energies  stifled ;  your  restless  mind  left  to  prey  upon  itself, 
or  sustain  a  weary  siege  against  despair.  Pain  or  danger  you 
could  have  faced  like  a  man ;  but  this  passive  misery  must  to 
you  have  been  a  daily  death." 

"Who,"  interrupted  Morton,  "taught  you,  a  woman,  to 
penetrate  the  nature  of  a  man,  and  describe  sufferings  that 
you  never  felt  ?  " 

"  Your  mind  was  like  a  spring  of  steel,  springing  up  the 
more  strongly  the  harder  it  was  pressed  down.  The  suffer 
ing  must  have  been  deep  indeed  from  which  you  could  not 
rebound.  To  have  escaped,  to  have  reached  home,  and  to 
have  found  any  thing  but  relief  and  delight " 

"  Home  !  "  ejaculated  Morton,  bitterly,  as  a  sharp  mem 
ory  of  the  anguish  which  had  met  him  on  the  threshold  came 
over  him.  "  A  prison  may  be  borne  with  patience.  Those 
are  fortunate  who  have  felt  no  keener  stabs." 

The  words,  equivocal  as  they  were,  were  scarcely  spoken, 
when  he  had  repented  them.  Fanny  Euston  was  silent  for  a 


356  VASSALL    MORTON. 

moment.  "  Can  it  be  possible,"  she  thought,  "  that  the 
stories  whispered  about,  that  before  he  went  away  he  was 
engaged  to  Edith  Leslie,  are  something  more  than  an  idle 
rumor  ?  " 

"  Why  do  you  look  at  me  so  searchingly  ?  "  thought  Mor 
ton,  on  his  part,  as,  raising  his  eyes,  he  saw  those  of  his 
friend  fixed  on  him  in  a  gaze  in  which  a  woman's  curiosity 
was  mingled  with  a  fully  equal  share  of  a  woman's  kindliness 
and  sympathy.  He  hastened  to  escape  from  the  critical 
ground  which  he  had  approached. 

"  I  can  retort  upon  you,"  he  said.  "  You  have  had  your 
ordeal,  too." 

.  "  What,  do  you  see  its  traces  ?     Do  you  find  me  scorched 
and  withered  ? " 

"  I  see,"  said  Morton,  "  such  traces  as  on  gold  that  has 
passed  through  the  furnace." 

"  Truly,  I  have  cause  to  rejoice,  then  ;  for  I  remember 
that,  among  other  compliments,  you  once  intimated  your 
opinion  that  I  was  possessed  with  a  devil." 

"  I  am  afraid  that  I  pushed  to  its  farthest  limit  my  privi 
lege  of  cousinship." 

"  And  yet,  when  I  look  back  to  that  time,  I  cannot  help 
thinking  that  you  had  some  reason  for  believing  that  an  in 
fluence  from  the  nether  world  had  some  share  in  me." 

"  Now  pardon  me,  if  I  am  rude  again.  Looking  at  you,  I 
can  see  the  same  devil  still." 

"  Indeed,  and  you  will  console  me  now,  as  you  did  then, 
by  telling  me  that  a  dash  of  viciousness  is  necessary  to  make 
a  character  interesting." 


VASSALL    MORTON.  357 

"  I  should  prune  and  explain  my  speech.  By  a  devil,  I 
did  not  mean  a  malicious  imp  of  darkness,  wholly  bent  on 
evil.  I  meant  nothing  more  than  certain  impulses  and  emo 
tions, —  passions,  if  I  may  call  them  so,  —  very  turbulent 
tenants,  yet  of  admirable  use  when  well  dealt  with.  These 
were  the  devil  whom  I  used  to  see  in  you,  and  whom  I  see 
still." 

"  I  shall  tremble  at  myself." 

"  Then  you  are  not  so  brave  as  you  were  when  you  leaped 
the  fallen  tree  at  New  Baden.  Your  demon  has  ceased  to 
have  an  alarming  look.  I  think  you  have  turned  him  to 
good  account.  Shall  I  illustrate  from  the  legends  of  the 
saints  ?  " 

"  In  any  way  you  please  ;  but  I  should  never  have  expected 
you  to  resort  to  so  pious  a  source." 

"  St.  Bernard,  crossing  the  Alps  on  some  holy  errand,  was 
met  by  Satan,  who,  being  anxious  to  prevent  his  journey, 
broke  one  of  his  carriage  wheels.  But  St.  Bernard  caught 
him,  sprinkled  him  with  holy  water,  doubled  him  into  a  wheel, 
and  put  him  upon  the  carriage  in  place  of  the  broken  one. 
The  legend  says  that  he  answered  the  purpose  admirably,  and 
bore  the  saint  safely  to  the  end  of  his  journey." 

"  Your  legend  is  absurd  enough ;  but  I  think  I  catch  your 
meaning,  and  wish  I  could  think  you  wholly  in  the  right.  It 
is  singular  that  you  and  I  have  never  met  without  our  con 
versation  becoming  personal  to  ourselves.  We  are  always 
studying  each  other  —  always  trying  to  penetrate  each  other's 
thoughts." 

"  On  one  side,  at  least,  the  success  has  been  complete.    As 


358  VASSALL    MORTON. 

you  look  at  me,  I  feel  that  you  are  reading  me  like  a  book, 
from  title  page  to  finis." 

"  You  greatly  overrate  my  penetration.  I  am  conscious,  at 
this  moment,  of  movements  in  your  mind  which  I  do  not 
understand." 

"  And  would  you  have  me  confess  them  to  you  ? " 

"  You  might  repent  it  afterwards  ;  and  that  would  make  a 
breach  between  us." 

"  You  are  a  miraculous  woman,  to  postpone  your  curiosity 
to  a  scruple  like  that.  No,  I  would  not  have  spoken  of  con 
fession,  if  I  should  ever  repent  it.  Do  you  know,  I  would 
rather  open  my  mind  to  you  than  to  any  one  else  I  am  now 
acquainted  with." 

"  But  you  have  male  friends ;  very  old  and  intimate  ones." 

"  Excellent  in  their  way ;  but  I  would  as  soon  confess  to 
my  horse.  Find  me  a  woman  of  sense,  with  a  brain  to  dis 
cern,  a  heart  to  feel,  passion  to  feel  vehemently,  and  principle 
to  feel  rightly,  and  I  will  show  her  my  mind  ;  or,  if  not,  I 
will  show  it  to  no  one.  Now,  after  this  preamble,  you  have 
a  right  to  think  that  I  should  begin  to  confess  something  at 
once.  But  first,  I  will  ask  you  a  question." 

"  What  is  it  ?  " 

"  Tell  me  what  effect  you  think  any  long  and  severe  suf 
fering  ought  to  have  on  a  man  —  something,  I  mean,  that 
would  bring  him  to  the  brink  of  despair,  and  keep  him  there 
for  months  and  years." 

"  What  kind  of  man  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Suppose  one  given  over  to  pleasure,  ambition,  or  any 
other  engrossing  pursuit  not  too  disinterested." 


VASSALL    MORTON.  359 

"  It  would  depend  on  how  the  suffering  was  taken." 

"  Suppose  him  resolved  to  make  the  best  of  a  bad  bargain." 

"  Why,  the  effect  ought  to  be  good,  I  suppose,  —  so  the 
preachers  say." 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  know  what  the  preachers  say.  I  wish 
your  own  opinion." 

"  Are  you  quite  in  earnest  ?  " 

"  Quite." 

"Such  suffering,  rightly  taken,  would  strip  life  of  its  dis 
guises,  and  show  it  in  its  naked  truth.  It  would  teach  the 
man  to  know  himself  and  to  know  others.  It  would  awaken 
his  sympathies,  enlarge  his  mind,  and  greatly  expand  his 
sphere  of  vision ;  teach  him  -to  hold  present  pleasure  and 
present  pain  in  small  account,  and  to  look  beyond  them  into 
a  future  of  boundless  hopes  and  fears." 

"  Now,"  said  Morton,  "  you  have  betrayed  yourself." 

"  How  have  I  betrayed  myself?  "  asked  his  friend,  in  some 
discomposure. 

"  You  have  shown  me  the  secrets  of  your  own  mind. 
You  have  given  me  a  glimpse  of  your  own  history,  since  we 
last  met." 

"  And  so,  under  pretence  of  confessing  to  me,  you  have 
been  plotting  to  make  me  confess  to  you  !  " 

"  No,  you  shall  hear  my  confession.  I  have  it  now,  such 
as  it  is,  at  my  tongue's  end." 

"  I  have  no  faith  in  you." 

"  Perhaps  you  will  have  still  less  when  you  have  heard 
this  great  secret.  You  remember  me  before  I  went  away. 
I  was  a  very  exemplary  young  gentleman,  —  quiet,  orderly, 


360  VASSALL   MOETOX. 

well  behaved,  —  of  a  studious  turn,  —  soberly  and  virtuously 
given." 

"  You  give  yourself  an  excellent  character." 

"  And  what  should  be  the  results  of  the  discipline  of  a 
dungeon  on  such  a  person  ?  " 

"  Discipline  would  be  a  superfluity,  considering  your  per 
fections." 

"  So  I  thought  myself.  Nevertheless,  for  four  years,  or  so, 
I  was  shut  up,  with  nothing  to  look  at  but  stone  walls,  under 
circumstances  most  favorable  for  the  culture  of  patience, 
resignation,  forgiveness,  and  all  the  Christian  virtues ;  and 
yet  the  devil  has  never  been  half  so  busy  with  me  as  since  I 
came  out ;  never  whispered  half  so  many  villanous  sugges 
tions  into  my  ears,  nor  baited  me  with  such  scandalous  temp 
tations." 

"  That  is  very  strange,"  said  Fanny  Euston,  who  was 
looking  at  him  intently. 

"  For  example,"  pursued  Morton,  "  a  little  more  than  a 
year  ago,  in  New  York,  he  said  to  me,  *  Renounce  all  your 
old  plans,  and  habits,  and  antiquated  scruples  —  reclaim  your 
natural  freedom  —  fling  yourself  headlong  into  the  turmoil 
of  the  world  —  chase  whatever  fate  or  fortune  throws  in  your 
way  —  enjoy  the  zest  of  lawless  pleasures  —  launch  into  mad 
adventure  —  embark  on  schemes  of  ambition  —  care  nothing 
for  the  past  or  the  future  —  think  only  of  the  present  —  fear 
neither  God  nor  man,  and  follow  your  vagrant  star  wherever 
it  leads  you." 

Morton  knew  that,  restrained  and  governed  as  it  might  be, 
there  was  quicksilver  enough  in  his  companion's  veins  to  ena- 


VASSA.LL    MOKTON.  361 

ble  her  to  understand  what  he  had  said,  and  prevent  her 
being  startled  at  it.  But  he  was  by  no  means  prepared  for 
the  close  attack  she  proceeded  to  make  on  him. 

"  Such  a  state  of  mind  is  foreign  to  your  nature.  You 
have  prudence  and  forecast.  You  used  to  make  plans  for  the 
future,  and  study  the  final  results  of  every  thing  you  did. 
There  is  something  upon  your  mind.  It  is  not  imprisonment 
only  that  has  caused  that  compression  of  your  lips,  and 
marked  those  lines  on  your  face.  You  have  met  with  some 
deep  disaster,  some  overwhelming  disappointment.  Nothing 
else  could  have  wrought  such  a  convulsion  in  you." 

Morton  was  taken  by  surprise  ;  and,  as  he  struggled  to 
frame  an  answer,  his  features  betrayed  an  emotion  which  he 
could  not  hide.  Fanny  Euston  hastened  to  relieve  his  em 
barrassment,  and  assuage,  as  far  as  she  could,  the  tumult  she 
had  called  up. 

"  With  whatever  fate  you  may  have  had  to  battle,  your 
wounds  are  in  the  front,  —  all  honorable  scars.  Your  des 
peration  is  past ;  —  it  was  only  for  the  hour ;  —  and  for  the 
other  extreme,  it  is  not  in  you  to  suffer  that." 

"  What  other  extreme  ?  " 

"  Idle  dreaming  ;  —  melancholy ;  —  weak  pining  at  disap 
pointment." 

"  No,  thank  God,  it  is  not  in  me  to  lie  and  whine  like  a 
sick  child." 

"  You  are  the  firmer  for  what  you  have  passed.    Manhood, 
the  proudest  of  all  possession  to  a  man,  is  strengthened  and 
deepened  in  you." 
31 


362  VASSALL    MORTON 

"  What  do  you  call  this  manhood,  which  you  seem  to  hold 
in  such  high  account  ?  " 

"  That  unflinching  quality  which,  strong  in  generous 
thought  and  high  purpose,  bears  onward  towards  its  goal, 
knowing  no  fear  but  the  fear  of  God ;  wise,  prudent,  calm, 
yet  daring  and  hoping  all  things  ;  not  dismayed  by  reverses, 
nor  elated  by  success ;  never  bending  nor  receding ;  weary 
ing  out  ill  fortune  by  undespairing  constancy ;  unconquered 
by  pain  or  sorrow,  or  deferred  hope ;  fiery  in  attack,  stead 
fast  in  resistance,  unshaken  in  the  front  of  death  ;  and  when 
courage  is  vain,  and  hope  seems  folly,  when  crushing  calamity 
presses  it  to  the  earth,  and  the  exhausted  body  will  no  longer 
obey  the  still  undaunted  mind,  then  putting  forth  its  hardest, 
saddest  heroism,  the  unlaurelled  heroism  of  endurance, 
patiently  biding  its  time." 

"  And  how  if  its  time  never  come  ?  " 

"  Then  dying  at  its  post,  like  the  Roman  sentinel  at 
Pompeii." 

Her  words  struck  a  chord  in  Morton's  nature,  and  roused 
his  early  enthusiasm,  dormant  for  years. 

"  Fanny,"  he  said,  "  I  thank  you.  You  give  me  back  my 
youth.  An  hour  ago,  the  world  was  as  dull  to  me  as  a 
November  day ;  but  you  have  brought  June  back  again.  You 
would  make  a  coward  valiant,  and  breathe  life  into  a 
dead  man." 

Miss  Euston  seemed,  for  a  moment,  in  embarrassment  what 
to  reply ;  indeed,  she  showed  some  signs  of  discomposure, 
contrasting  with  her  former  frankness.  They  were  still  in 


VASSALL    MORTON.  363 

the  recess  of  the  window.  She  was  visible  to  those  in  the 
room ;  while  he,  standing  opposite,  was  hidden  by  a  cur 
tain.  At  this  moment,  a  gentleman,  with  a  slight  limp  in 
his  gait,  approaching  quickly,  accosted  Miss  Euston,  smil 
ing  with  an  air  of  the  most  earnest  affability.  She  looked 
up  to  reply,  but,  as  she  did  so,  her  eyes  were  arrested 
by  a  sudden  change  in  the  features  of  her  companion,  who 
was  bending  on  the  new  comer  a  look  so  fierce  and  threat 
ening,  that  she  scarcely  repressed  an  ejaculation  of  surprise. 
Mr.  Horace  Vinal  followed  the  direction  of  her  gaze,  and 
saw  himself  face  to  face  with  the  victim  of  his  villany. 
He  started  as  if  he  had  found  a  grizzly  bear  behind  the 
curtain.  The  smile  vanished  from  his  lips,  the  color  from 
his  cheeks,  and  he  hastily  drew  back,  and  mingled  with  the 
crowd. 

This  sudden  apparition,  breaking  in  upon  the  brightening 
mood  of  the  moment,  incensed  Morton  almost  to  fury  ;  and 
his  anger,  absurdly  enough,  was  a  little  tinged  with  a  feel 
ing  not  wholly  unlike  jealousy.  He  made  an  involuntary 
movement  to  follow  his  enemy,  but  recollecting  himself, 
smoothed  his  brow  and  calmed  his  ruffled  spirit  as  he  best 
might. 

"  You  seem  to  know  that  man  very  well,"  he  said  to  Miss 
Euston. 

"  Yes,  I  know  him." 

"  He  seems  to  think  himself  on  excellent  terms  with  you." 

"  He  has  charge  of  my  mother's  property." 

"  You  are  good  at  reading  faces.  I  hope  you  liked  the 
expression  on  his,  as  he  slunk  away  just  now." 


364  VASSALL    MORTON. 

"It  was  fear  —  abject  fear.  Why  are  you  so  angry? 
Why  is  he  so  frightened  ?  " 

"  His  nerves,  you  may  have  observed,  are  something  of  the 
weakest.  He  is  my  attendant  genius,  my  familiar.  A  word 
from  me,  and  he  will  run  my  errand  like  a  spaniel." 

"  How  could  you  gain  such  power  over  him  ?  "  she  asked, 
in  great  astonishment. 

"  Magnetism,  Fanny,  magnetism.  The  effects  of  the 
mesmeric  "fluid  are  wonderful.  See,  the  polking  is  over ; 
they  are  forming  a  quadrille.  Shall  we  take  our  places  in 
the  set?" 

During  the  dance,  Morton  looked  for  his  enemy,  but  could 
not  discover  him  till  it  was  over,  and  he  had  led  his  partner 
to  a  seat. 

"  Look,"  he  said,  "  there  is  our  friend  again ;  in  the  next 

room,  just  beyond  the  folding  doors,  talking  with  Mrs. 

and  Mrs. .  He  seems  to  have  got  the  better  of  the 

shock  to  his  nerves  ;  at  least,  he  stands  up  manfully  against 
it.  Mr.  Horace  Vinal  has  a  stout  heart,  and  needs  nothing 
but  valor,  and  one  other  quality,  to  make  a  hero.  But  his 
face  is  flushed.  I  fear  he  suffers  in  his  health.  See,  he 
makes  himself  very  agreeable.  Vinal  was  always  famous  for 
his  wit.  Pardon  me  a  moment ;  I  have  a  word  for  my 
friend's  ear." 

Fanny  Euston  looked  at  him  doubtingly. 

"  Pray,  don't  be  discomposed.  There's  no  gunpowder  im 
pending.  Vinal  is  not  a  fighting  man  ;  nor  am  I.  What  I 
have  to  say  is  altogether  pacific,  loving,  and  scriptural." 

And  passing  into  the  adjoining  room,  he  approached  Vinal, 


VASSALL    MORTON.  365 

who  no  sooner  saw  the  movement,  than  he  showed  a  manifest 
uneasiness.  His  forced  animation  ceased,  his  manner  became 
constrained,  and  while  Morton  stood  near,  waiting  an  oppor 
tunity  to  speak  to  him,  he  withdrew  to  another  part  of  the 
room.  Morton  followed,  and  pronounced  his  name.  Vinal, 
with  pretended  unconsciousness,  mingled  with  the  crowd. 
Morton  again  tried  to  accost  him,  and  again  Vinal  moved 
away.  Impatient  and  exasperated,  Morton  stepped  behind 
him,  touched  his  shoulder,  and  whispered  in  his  ear,  — 

"  You  fool,  do  you  know  your  danger  ?  Speyer  is  looking 
for  you.  I  saw  him  this  afternoon.  He  looks  as  if  he  needed 
your  charity.  You  had  better  be  generous  with  him.  He  is 
a  tiger,  and  will  be  upon  you  before  you  know  it." 

Anger  and  terror,  of  which  the  latter  vastly  predominated, 
gave  a  ghastly  look  to  Vinal' s  face,  as  he  turned  it  towards 
Morton.  But  he  drew  back  without  a  word,  and  soon  left 
the  room. 

"  Where  is  Mr.  Vinal  ?  "  asked  the  wondering  Fanny 
Euston,  as  her  companion  returned  to  her  side.  The  momen 
tary  interview  had  been  invisible  from  where  she  sat. 

"  Obeyed  the  magic  word,  and  vanished.  Never  doubt 
again  the  power  of  magnetism.  Now  you  may  see  that  the 
claptrap  of  the  charlatans  about  the  mutual  influence  of  con 
genial  spheres  is  not  quite  such  trash  as  one  might  think. 
Vinal  and  I,  being  congenial  spheres,  put  each  other,  the  one 
into  a  passion,  the  other  into  a  fright.  But  I  have  a  request 
to  you.  Whoever  knows  you,  knows,  in  spite  of  the  libellers, 
a  woman  who  can  keep  counsel ;  and  as  I  am  modest  in 
respect  to  my  magnetic  gifts,  I  shall  beg  it  of  you,  that  you 
31* 


366  YASSALL    MORTON. 

will  not  mention  these  experiments  to  any  one.  Good  even 
ing.  I  have  revived  to-night  an  old  and  valued  friendship. 
If  I  can  help  it,  it  shall  not  die  again." 

He  took  leave  of  his  hostess,  wrapped  his   cloak  about 
him,  and  walked  out  into  the  drizzling  night. 


CHAPTEB    LXIII. 

Nought's  bad,  all's  spent, 
Where  our  desire  is  got  without  content. 
'Tis  safer  to  be  that  which  we  destroy, 
Than  by  destruction  dwell  in  doubtful  joy.  —  Macbeth. 

MORTON  walked  the  street,  on  the  next  day,  in  a  mood 
less  grave  than  had  lately  been  his  wont,  but  in  one  of  any 
thing  but  self-approval. 

"  It  is  singular,"  he  thought,  "  I  could"  never  meet  her 
without  forgetting  myself,  —  without  being  betrayed  into 
some  absurdity  or  other.  I  thought  by  this  time  that  I  had 
grown  wiser,  or,  at  least,  was  well  fenced  against  that  kind 
of  risk.  But  it  is  the  same  now  as  ever.  I  was  a  fool  at  New 
Baden,  and  I  was  a  fool  again  last  night,  though  after  a  differ 
ent  fashion.  After  all,  when  a  fresh  breeze  comes,  why  should 
I  not  breathe  it  ?  when  a  ray  of  sun  comes,  why  should  I  not 
bask  in  it  ?  But  what  impelled  me  to  insult  that  wretch,  who 
I  knew  dared  not  and  could  not  answer  me  ?  " 

He  pondered  for  a  moment,  then  turned  and  walked 
slowly  towards  Vinal's  place  of  business. 

"  Is  Mr.  Vinal  here  ?  "  he  asked  of  one  of  the  clerks. 

"  Yes,  sir,  he  is  in  that  inner  room." 

"  Is  any  one  with  him  ?  " 

(367) 


368  VA.SSALL   MOETON. 

"  No,  sir."  And  Morton  opened  the  door  and  entered. 
Vinal  sat  before  a  table,  on  which  letters  and  papers  were 
lying  ;  but  he  was  leaning  backward  in  his  chair,  with  a  pain 
fully  knit  brow,  and  a  face  of  ghastly  paleness.  It  flushed 
of  a  sudden  as  Morton  appeared,  and  his  whole  look  and 
mien  showed  an  irrepressible  agitation. 

Morton  closed  the  door.  "  Vinal,"  he  said,  "  you  need 
not  fear  that  I  have  come  with  any  hostile  purpose.  On  the 
contrary,  I  will  serve  you,  if  I  can.  Last  night  I  used  words 
to  you  which  I  have  since  regretted.  I  beg  you  to  accept  my 
apology." 

Vinal  made  no  reply. 

"  I  saw  Speyer  in  the  street  last  evening,  and  tried  to 
speak  with  him,  but  could  not  stop  him.  He  can  hardly 
have  any  other  purpose  in  breaking  his  oath  and  coming  here 
again,  than  to  get  more  money  from  you.  Has  he  been 
to  you  ?  " 

Still  Vinal  was  silent. 

"  I  think,"  continued  Morton,  "  that  you  cannot  fail  to  see 
my  motive.  I  wish  to  keep  him  from  you,  not  on  your 
account,  but  on  your  wife's.  If  you  let  him,  he  will  torment 
you  to  your  death.  Have  you  seen  him  since  last  evening  ?  " 

Vinal  inclined  his  head. 

"  Where  is  he  now  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  Has  he  left  the  city  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.     I  suppose  so." 

"  And  you  gave  him  money  ?  " 

Vinal  was  silent  again.    Morton  took  his  silence  for  assent. 


VASSALL   MORTON.  369 

"  When  lie  comes  again,  tell  me  of  it,  and  let  me  speak  to 
him.  Possibly  I  may  find  means  to  rid  you  of  him.  Mean 
time  remember  this.  He  has  given  your  letter  up  to  me. 
He  has  no  proofs  to  show  against  you,  unless  he  has  other 
letters  of  yours  ;  — is  that  the  case  ?" 

Vinal  shook  his  head. 

"  Then,  if  he  proclaims  you,  his  word  will  not  be  taken, 
unless  I  sustain  it ;  and  I  shall  keep  silent  unless  you  give 
me  some  new  cause  to  speak.  I  do  not  see  that  he  can  harm 
you  much  without  my  help ;  so  give  him  no  more  money,  and 
set  him  at  defiance." 

Morton  left  the  room ;  but  his  words  had  brought  no 
relief  to  the  wretched  Vinal.  Speyer  had  shown  him  his 
letter,  and  told  him  the  artifice  by  which  he  had  kept  it,  and 
palmed  off  a  counterfeit  on  Morton.  He  felt  himself  at  the 
mercy  of  a  miscreant  as  rapacious,  fierce,  and  pitiless,  as  a 
wolverene  dropping  on  its  prey. 


CHAPTER    LXIV. 

Ah,  would  my  friendship  with  thee 
Might  drown  the  memory  of  all  patterns  past !  —  Suckling. 

SOME  few  days  after,  riding,  as  usual,  in  the  afternoon, 
Morton  saw  on  the  road  before  him  a  lady  on  horseback, 
riding  in  the  same  direction.  At  a  glance,  he  recognized 
the  air  and  figure  of  Fanny  Euston.  This  remnant,  at  least, 
of  her  former  spirit  remained  to  her,  —  she  did  not  hesi 
tate  to  ride  unattended.  Morton  checked  his  horse,  reflected 
for  a  little,  then  touched  him  with  the  spur,  and  in  a  moment 
was  at  her  side.  After  they  had  conversed  for  a  while,  she 
said,  — 

"  I  have  heard  a  great  deal  of  your  imprisonment  from 
others,  but  nothing  from  yourself.  Will  you  not  let  me  hear 
your  story  from  your  own  lips  ?  " 

"  It  was  a  long  and  dull  history  to  live  through,  and  will  be 
a  short  and  dull  one  to  tell." 

"  I  have  never  been  able  to  hear  clearly  why  you  were 
arrested  at  all." 

"  It  was  a  simple  matter.  The  Austrian  government  is 
like  a  tyrant  and  a  coward,  frightened  at  shadows.  I  had 
one  or  two  acquaintances  at  Vienna  who  had  been  implicated, 
though  I  did  not  know  it,  in  plots  against  the  government. 

(370) 


VASSALL    MOKTON.  371 

I,  being  an  American,  was  imagined  to  be,  as  a  matter  of 
course,  a  democrat,  and  in  league  witlj  them.  It  needed  very 
little  more  ;  and  they  shut  me  up,  as  they  have  done  many 
an  innocent  man  before  me." 

"  Looking  back  at  your  imprisonment,  it  must  seem  to  you 
a  broad,  dark  chasm  in  your  life." 

"  Broad  and  black  enough  ;  but  not  quite  so  void  as  I  once 
thought." 

"  No ;  in  struggling  through  it,  I  can  see  that  you  have 
not  come  out  empty  handed." 

"  Not  I ;  I  should  be  glad  to  rid  myself  of  the  larger  part 
of  the  load.  One  is  sometimes  punished  with  the  fulfilment, 
of  his  own  whims.  I  remember  wishing  —  and  that  not  so 
many  years  back  —  that  I  might  sound  all  the  strings  of 
human  joys  and  sufferings,  —  try  life  in  all  its  phases,  —  in 
peace  and  war,  a  dungeon,  if  I  remember  right,  inclusive.  I 
have  had  my  fill  of  it,  and  do  not  care  to  repeat  the  experi 
ment." 

"  Some  of  the  damp  and  darkness  of  your  dungeon  still 
clings  about  you,  and  out  of  the  midst  of  it,  you  look  back 
over  the  gulf  to  a  shore  of  light  and  sunshine,  where  you 
were  once  standing." 

"  You  read  me  like  a  sibyl,  as  you  always  do.  None  but  a 
child  or  a  fool  will  seriously  regret  any  shape  of  experience 
out  of  which  he  has  come  with  mind  and  senses  still  sound, 
though  it  may  have  changed  the  prismatic  colors  of  life  into 
a  neutral  tint,  a  universal  gray,  a  Scotch  mist,  with  light 
enough  to  delve  by,  and  nothing  more." 

"  One's  life  is  a  series  of  compromises,  at  best.     One  must 


372  v  VASSALL    MORTON. 

capitulate  with  Fate,  gain  from  her  as  much  good  as  may  be, 

and  as  little  evil." 

% 

"  And  then  set  his  teeth  and  endure.  As  for  myself, 
though,  if  gifts  were  portioned  out  among  mankind  in  equal 
allotments,  I  should  count  myself,  even  now,  as  having  more 
than  my  share." 

"  That  idea  of  equalized  happiness  is  a  great  fallacy." 

"  Every  idea  of  mortal  equality  is  a  great  fallacy ;  and  all 
the  systems  built  on  it  are  built  on  a  quicksand.  There  is 
no  equality  in-  nature.  There  are  mountains  and  valleys, 
deserts  and  meadows,  the  fertile  and  the  barren.  There  is 
no  equality  in  human  minds  or  human  character.  Who  shall 
measure  the  distance  from  the  noblest  to  the  meanest  of  men, 
or  the  yet  vaster  distance  from  the  noblest  to  the  meanest  of 
women  ?  The  differences  among  mankind  are  broader  than 
any  but  the  greatest  of  men  can  grasp.  With  pains  enough, 
one  may  comprehend,  in  a  measure,  the  minds  on  a  level  with 
his  own  or  below  it;  but,  above,  he  sees  nothing  clearly. 
To  follow  the  movements  of  a  great  man's  mind,  he  must  raise 
himself  almost  to  an  equal  greatness." 

"  A  hopeless  attempt  with  most.     Every  one  has  a  limit." 

"  But  men  make  more  limits  for  themselves  than  Nature 
makes  for  them." 

"  You  seem  to  me  a  person  with  a  singular  capacity  of 
growth.  You  push  forth  fibres  into  every  soil,  and  draw  nu 
triment  from  sources  most  foreign  to  you." 

"  An  indifferent  stock  needs  all  the  aliment  it  can  find.  I 
am  fortunate  in  my  planting.  Companionship  is  that  which 
shapes  us ;  and  I  have  found  men,  and  what  is  more  to  the 


VASSALL    MORTON.  373 

purpose,  women,  who  have  met  my  best  requirement.  One's 
friends  have  all  their  special  influence  with  which  they  affect 
him.  Yours,  to  me,  was  always  a  rousing  and  wakening  in 
fluence,  an  electric  life.  You  have  shot  a  ray  of  sun  down  into 
my  shadow,  and  I  am  bound  at  least  to  thank  you  for  it." 

"  I  hope,  for  old  friendship's  sake,  that  your  shadow  may 
soon  cease  to  need  such  farthing-candle  illumination.  —  Here 
is  my  mother's  house.  She  will  be  glad  to  see  you." 

"  I  thank  you :  I  will  come  soon,  but  not  to-day." 

And,  taking  leave  of  his  companion,  he  turned  his  horse 
homeward. 

"  A  vain  attempt !  I  thought  a  light  might  kindle  again  ; 
but  it  is  all  dust  and  ashes,  with  only  a  sparkle  or  two.  No 
more  flame  ;  the  fuel  is  burnt  out.  Shall  I  go  on  ?  Shall  I 
offer  what  is  left  of  my  heart  ?  A  poor  tribute  for  her. 
She  should  command  a  better ;  and  there  is  something  in  her 
manner,  warm  and  cordial  as  she  is,  that  tells  me  that  I 
should  offer  it  in  vain." 
32 


CHAPTER    LXV. 


Art  thou  so  blind 

To  fling  away  the  gem  whose  untold  worth, 
Hid  'neath  the  roughness  of  its  native  mine, 
Tempts  not  the  eye  ?    Touched  by  the  artist's  wheel, 
The  hardest  stone  flashes  the  diamond's  light.  —  Anon. 


A  FEW  days  later,  Morton  was  seated  with  his  friend 
Meredith. 

"  Ned,  this  is  a  slow  life.  Do  you  know,  I  have  made  up 
my  mind  to  change  it.'* 

"  You  have  been  so  busy  this  year  past,  that  I  thought 
you  would  be  content  to  stay  where  you  are." 

"  On  the  contrary,  my  vocation  takes  me  abroad." 

"  Where  will  you  go  ?  " 

"  To  Egypt,  Arabia,  India,  the  East  Indies,  the  South  Sea 
Islands." 

"  All  in  the  cause  of  science  ?  " 

"  At  any  rate,  the  thing  is  necessary  to  my  plans." 

"  The  old  Adam  sticks  to  you  still.  Are  you  sure  that  no 
Pequot  blood  ever  got  into  your  veins  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  as  to  that.  My  ancestors  were  Puritans  to 
the  backbone,  witch-burners,  Quaker-killers,  and  Indian- 
haters.  I  only  know  that  when  I  am  bored,  my  first  instinct 
is  to  cut  loose,  and  take  to  the  woods.  It  conies  over  me 

(374) 


VASSAL!,    MOKTON.  375 

like  an  ague-fit.  There  are  two  places  where  a  man  finds 
sea  room  enough ;  one  is  a  great  metropolis,  the  other  is  a 
wilderness.  There  is  no  freedom  in  a  place  like  this.  One 
can  only  be  independent  here  by  living  out  of  the  world  as  I 
have  been  doing." 

"  Here  in  America,  we  have  political  freedom  ad  nauseam  ; 
and  we  pay  for  it  with  a  loss  of  social  freedom." 

"  You  remember  an  agreement  of  ours,  years  ago,  that  you 
and  I  should  travel  together.  Now,  will  you  stand  to  it,  and 
go  with  me  ?  " 

"  Other  considerations  apart,  I  should  like  nothing  better ; 
but,  as  matters  stand  with  me  now,  it's  quite  out  of  the 
question." 

Morton  was  silent  for  a  moment.  "Ned,"  he  said,  at 
length,  "  I  heard  a  rumor  yesterday.  It  is  no  part  of  mine 
to  obtrude  myself  into  your  private  affairs,  and  I  should  not 
speak  if  I  had  not  a  reason,  the  better  half  of  which  is,  that 
I  think  I  can  serve  you.  I  heard  that  you  were  paying  your 
addresses  to  Miss  Euston." 

"  One  cannot  look  twice  at  a  lady  without  having  it  noted 
down  in  black  and  white,  and  turned  into  tea-table  talk." 

**  I  met  Miss  Euston  a  few  evenings  ago.  I  used  to  know 
her  before  I  went  to  Europe,  but  had  not  seen  her  since.  If 
what  I  heard  is  true,  I  think  you  have  shown  something  more 
than  good  taste." 

"  You  remember  her,"  said  Meredith,  after  a  pause,  "  as 
she  was  the  summer  when  you  and  I  went  to  New  Baden." 

"  Yes,  I  knew  her  then  very  well." 


376  VASSALL    MORTON. 

"  I  liked  her  better  at  that  time  than  you  ever  supposed. 
She  was  very  young  ;  just  out  of  school,  in  fact.  She  had 
lived  all  her  life  in  the  suburbs,  and  had  grown  up  like  an 
unpruned  rose  bush,  —  a  fine  stock  in  a  strong  soil,  but 
throwing  out  its  shoots  quite  wildly  and  at  random." 

"  I  know  it ;  but  all  that  is  changed,  I  can't  conceive 
how." 

"  I  can  tell  you.  The  one  person  whom  she  loved  and 
stood  in  awe  of  was  her  father.  He  was  a  man,  and  a  strong 
one.  He  died  suddenly  about  the  time  you  went  away.  It 
was  the  first  blow  she  had  ever  felt ;  and  his  death  was  only 
the  beginning  of  greater  troubles.  You  remember  her  brother 
Henry." 

"  I  remember  him  when  he  was  at  school  —  a  good-natured, 
high-spirited  little  fellow,  whom  every  body  liked." 

"  With  wild  blood  enough  for  a  regiment,  and  as  careless, 
thoughtless,  and  easy-tempered  as  a  child,  such  as  he  was,  in 
fact.  His  father,  being  out  of  the  country  on  his  affairs,  sent 
him  to  New  York,  where  he  fell  in  with  a  bad  set,  and  grew 
very  dissipated.  Then,  to  get  him  out  of  harm's  way,  they 
shipped  him  off  to  Canton,  where  he  soon  began  to  ruin 
himself,  hand  over  hand.  At  last,  a  few  months  after  his 
father's  death,  his  mother  and  sister  heard  that  he  was  on  his 
way  home,  with  his  health  completely  broken.  The  next 
news  was,  that  he  was  at  Alexandria,  dangerously  ill  of 
a  slow  fever.  His  mother,  who,  with  all  respect,  is  the 
weakest  of  mortals,  broke  down  at  once  into  a  state  of  help 
lessness,  and  could  >do  nothing  but  weep  and  lament.  The 


VASSALL    MORTON.  377 

whole  burden  fell  upon  Ms  sister.  She  went  with  her  mother 
and  a  man  servant  to  Alexandria,  and  took  charge  of  her 
brother,  whose  fever  left  him  in  such  an  exhausted  state  that 
he  fell  into  a  decline.  She  brought  him  as  far  as  Naples, 
but  he  could  go  no  farther ;  and  here  she  attended  him  for 
five  months,  till  he  died ;  her  mother  sinking,  meanwhile, 
into  a  kind  of  moping  imbecility.  By  that  time,  her  uncle 
had  found  grace  to  come  and  join  them.  Then  her  turn 
came  ;  her  strength  failed  her,  and  she  fell  violently  ill. 
For  a  week,  her  life  was  despaired  of ;  but  she  rallied,  against 
all  hope.  I  was  in  Naples  soon  after,  and  used  to  meet  her 
every  morning,  as  she  drove  in  an  open  carriage  to  BaiaB.  I 
never  saw  such  a  transformation.  She  was  pale  as  death,  but 
very  beautiful ;  and  her  whole  expression  was  changed.  She 
had  always  been  very  fond  of  her  brother.  There  were  some 
points  of  likeness  between  them.  He  had  her  wildness,  and 
her  kindliness  of  disposition,  but  none  of  her  vigorous  good 
sense,  and  was  altogether  inferior  to  her  in  intellect.  Now 
you  can  have  some  idea  why  you  find  her  so  different  from 
what  you  once  knew  her  to  be." 

"  I  knew,"  said  Morton,  "  that  she  had  passed  through  the 
fire  in  some  way  ;  but  how  I  could  not  tell.  I  think,  now, 
still  better  of  your  judgment,  Ned." 

"  Then  you  see  why  I  will  not  go  with  you.  I  must 
bring  this  matter  to  an  issue.  For  good  or  evil,  I  must  know 
how  it  goes  with  me.  It  is  not  a  new  thing.  It  is  of  longer 
date  than  you  imagined,  or  she  either.  What  the  end  of  it 
may  be,  Heaven  only  knows  ;  but  one  thing  is  certain,  —  you 
will  not  see  me  in  the  South  Seas  before  this  point  is  cleared." 
32* 


378  VASSALL   MOBTON. 

"  Then  I  shall  never  see  you  there." 

"  Why  do  you  say  that  ?  " 

"  Your  travelling  days  are  over.     At  least  I  think  so." 

*'  Do  you  mean ?  " 

"  That  you  are  playing  at  a  game  where  I  think  you  will 
win." 

"  What  reason  have  you  to  think  so  ?  "  demanded  Mere 
dith,  nervously. 

"  Take  the  opinion,  and  let  the  reason  go.  On  such  an 
argument  a  good  reason  will  sometimes  dwindle  into  nothing 
when  one  tries  to  explain  it." 

His  hand  was  on  the  door  as  he  spoke,  and  bidding  his 
friend  good  morning,  he  left  him  to  his  meditations. 


CHAPTER   LXVI. 


Why  waste  thy  joyous  hours  in  needless  pain, 

Seeking  for  danger  and  adventure  vain  ?  —  Fairy  Queen. 


MORTON  mounted  his  horse,  and  rode  to  the  house  of  Mrs. 
Euston.  He  found  her  daughter  alone. 

"  I  have  come  to  take  leave  of  you.  I  am  on  my  travels 
again." 

"  Again !  You  are  always  on  the  wing.  I  supposed  that 
you  must  have  learned,  by  this  time,  to  value  home,  or,  at 
least,  be  reconciled  to  staying  there  in  peace." 

"  My  home  is  a  little  lonely,  and  none  of  the  liveliest. 
Movement  is  my  best  repose." 

"  You  are  wholly  made  up  of  restlessness." 

"  That  is  Nature's  failing,  not  mine  ;  or  if  Nature  declines 
to  bear  the  burden  of  my  shortcomings,  I  will  put  them  upon 
Destiny,  and  with  much  better  cause.  But  this  is  not  rest 
lessness  ;  or,  if  it  is,  it  has  method  in  it.  This  journey  is  a 
plan  of  eight  years'  standing.  I  concocted  it  when  I  was  a 
junior,  half  fledged,  at  college,  and  never  lost  sight  of  it  but 
once,  and  then  for  a  cause  that  does  not  exist  now." 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?  " 

Morton  gave  the  outline  of  his  journey. 

**  But  is  not  that  very  difficult  and  dangerous  ?  " 

(379) 


380  VASSALL    MOETON. 

"  Not  very." 

"  You  will  not  be  alone,  surely." 

"  I  provided  for  a  companion  years  ago.  My  friend  Mere 
dith  and  I  struck  an  agreement,  that  when  I  went  on  this 
journey  he  should  go  with  me." 

An  instant  shadow  passed  across  the  face  of  Fanny  Euston. 

"  So  you  will  have  a  companion,"  she  replied,  with  a  non 
chalance  too  distinct  to  be  genuine. 

"  Not  at  all.    He  breaks  his  word.    He  won't  hear  of  going." 

The  cloud  vanished. 

"  I  take  it  ill  of  him ;  for  I  had  relied  on  having  him  with 
me.  He  and  I  are  old  fellow-travellers.  I  have  tried  him  in 
sunshine  and  rain,  and  know  his  metal."  And  he  launched 
into  an  emphatic  eulogy  of  his  friend,  to  which  Fanny  Euston 
listened  with  a  pleasure  which  she  could  not  wholly  hide. 

"  He  best  knows  why  he  fails  me.  It  is  some  cogent  and 
prevailing  reason ;  no  light  cause,  or  sudden  fancy.  Some 
powerful  motive,  mining  deep  and  moving  strongly,  has 
shaken  him  from  his  purpose  ;  so  I  forgive  him  for  his 
falling  off." 

As  Morton  spoke,  he  was  studying  his  companion's  features, 
and  she,  conscious  of  his  scrutiny,  visibly  changed  color. 

"  Dear  cousin,"  he  said,  with  a  changed  tone,  "  if  I  must 
lose  my  friend,  let  me  find,  when  I  return,  that  my  loss  has 
been  overbalanced  by  his  gain.  I  will  reconcile  myself  to  it, 
if  it  may  help  to  win  for  him  the  bounty  that  he  aspires  to." 

The  blush  deepened  to  crimson  on  Fanny  Euston' s  cheek  ; 
and  without  waiting  for  more  words,  Morton  bade  her 
farewell. 


CHAPTER    LXVII. 

Mais  ai-je  sur  son  ame  encor  quelque  pouvoir, 

Quelque  reste  d'amour  s'y  fait  il  encor  voir. — Polyeucte. 

WITH  a  slow  step  and  a  sinking  heart,  Morton  entered 
Mrs.  Ashland's  drawing  room.  He  told  her  of  his  proposed 
journey  ;  told  her  that  he  should  leave  the  country  within  a 
few  days,  to  be  absent  for  a  year  or  two  at  least,  and  asked 
her  mediation  to  gain  for  him  a  parting  interview  with  Edith 
Leslie. 

Mrs.  Ashland,  and  she  only,  knew  the  whole  misery  of  her 
friend's  position,  and  feared  lest,  exhausted  as  she  was  by 
mental  pain  and  long  watching,  and  divided  between  her 
unexftnguished  love  for  Morton,  and  her  abhorrence  of  the 
criminal  who  by  name  and  the  letter  of  the  law  was  her  hus 
band,  the  meeting  might  put  her  self-mastery  to  too  painful  a 
proof.  She  therefore,  though  with  a  very  evident  reluctance, 
dissuaded  Morton  from  it. 

"  Edith  has  been  taxed  already  to  the  farthest  limit  of  her 
strength.  She  is  not  ill,  but  quite  worn  and  spent.  She  is 
almost  constantly  with  her  father,  who,  now,  can  hardly  be 
said  to  live,  and  needs  constant  care.  To  see  you  at  this 

time  would  agitate  her  too  much." 

(381) 


382  VASSALL    MOKTON. 

"  Can  the  sight  of  me  still  have  so  much  power  to 
move  her  ?  " 

"  You  know  what  she  is.  A  feeling  once  rooted  in  her 
mind  does  not  loosen  its  hold.  There  are  very  few  who  com 
prehend  her.  Her  character  is  so  balanced  and  so  harmo 
nious,  so  quiet  and  noiseless  in  its  movement,  that  no  one 
suspects  the  force,  and  faith,  and  energy  that  are  in  it.  It  is 
not  in  words  or  in  looks  that  she  shows  herself.  It  is  in 
action,  in  emergencies,  that  she  declares  her  power  over  her 
self  and  over  others." 

Morton's  passion  glowed  upon  him  with  all  its  early  fervor. 

"  I  will  tell  her  what  you  wish.  But  her  cup  is  full 
already,  and  you  can  hardly  be  willing  to  shake  it  to  over 
flowing.  It  is  impossible  that  her  father  should  linger  many 
days  more  ;  and  when  that  is  over,  it  will  bring  her  a  relief, 
though  she  may  not  think  it  so,  in  more  ways  than  one." 

Morton  assented  to  his  friend's  reasons,  and  leaving  his 
farewell  for  Edith  Leslie,  mournfully  took  his  leave. 


CHAPTER   LXVIII. 

Grief  and  patience,  rooted  in  her  both, 
Mingle  their  spurs  together.  —  Cymbdine. 

LESLIE  was  dead  ;  beyond  the  reach  of  wounds  and  sor 
row  ;  and  the  only  tie  which  held  his  daughter  to  Vinal  was 
at  last  broken.  She  left  him,  as  she  had  promised,  and  made 
her  abode  with  Mrs.  Ashland,  in  her  cottage  by  the  sea  shore. 

She  sat  alone  at  an  open  window,  looking  out  upon  the 
sea,  an  illimitable  dreariness,  waveless  and  dull  as  tarnished 
lead  ;  clouded  with  sullen  mists,  but  still  rocking  in  long, 
dead  swells  with  the  motion  of  a  past  storm. 

Her  thoughts  followed  on  the  track  of  the  absent  Morton. 

"  It  is  best  for  you  to  have  gone  ;  to  have  made  for  your 
self  a  relief  in  your  man's  element  of  action  and  struggle. 
Such  a  change  is  happiness,  after  the  misery  you  have  known. 
It  was  a  bitter  schooling  ;  a  long  siege,  and  a  dreary  one  ; 
but  you  have  triumphed,  and  you  wear  its  trophy,  —  the 
heroic  calm,  the  mind  tranquil  with  consciousness  of  power. 
You  have  wrung  a  proud  tribute  out  of  sorrow  ;  but  has  it 
yielded  you  all  its  treasure  ?  Could  you  but  have  rested  less 
loftily  on  your  own  firm  resolve  and  unbending  pride  of  man 
hood  !  Could  you  but  have  learned  that  gentler,  deeper, 
higher  philosophy  which  builds  for  itself  a  temple  out  of 


384  VASSALL   MORTON. 

ruin,  and  makes  weakness  invincible  with  binding  its  tendrils 
to  the  rock ! 

"  Your  fate  and  mine  have  not  been  a  bed  of  roses  ;  but 
the  fierceness  of  yours  is  past,  and  I  must  still  wait  the  issues 
of  mine.  I  have  renounced  this  fraud  and  mockery  of  empty 
words  which  was  to  have  bound  me  to  a  life-long  horror. 
The  world  will  think  very  strangely  of  me.  That  must  be 
borne,  too ;  and  such  a  load  is  light,  to  the  burden  I  have 
borne  already." 

A  few  days  later,  tidings  came  that  Vinal  was  ill.  Edith 
Leslie  rejoined  him ;  but,  finding  that  her  presence  was  any 
thing  but  soothing  to  him,  she  left  him  in  the  care  of  others, 
and  returned  to  her  friend's  house.  It  was  but  a  sudden  and 
short  attack,  from  which  he  recovered  in  a  week  or  two. 


CHAPTER    LXIX. 

Fal.— Reason,  you  rogue,  reason;  thinkest  thou  I'll  endanger  my  soul  gratis? 

Merry  Wives  of  Windsor. 
Pistol.  —  Base  is  the  slave  that  pays.  —  Henry  V. 

TIME  had  been  when,  his  youth  considered,  Vinal  was  a 
beaming  star  in  the  commercial  heaven.  On  'change, 

"  His  name  was  great, 
In  mouths  of  wisest  censure." 

The  astutest  broker  pronounced  him  good ;  the  sagest 
money  lender  took  his  paper  without  a  question.  But  of  late, 
his  signature  had  lost  a  little  of  its  efficacy.  It  was  whis 
pered  that  he  was  not  as  sound  as  his  repute  gave  out ;  that 
his  operations  were  no  longer  marked  by  his  former  clear 
headed  forecast ;  that  he  was  deep  in  doubtful  and  dangerous 
speculation.  In  short,  his  credit  stood  by  no  means  where  it 
had  stood  a  twelvemonth  earlier. 

Possibly  these  rumors  took  their  first  impulse,  not  on 
'change,  but  at  tea  tables,  and  in  drawing  rooms.  His  wife's 
separation  from  him  had  given  ample  food  to  speculation ; 
and  gossip  had  for  once  been  just,  asserting,  with  few  dis 
senting  voices,  that  there  must  needs  be  some  fault,  and  a 
grave  one,  on  the  part  of  Vinal.  The  event  had  ceased  to  be 
33 


386  VASSALL    MORTON. 


. 


a  very  recent  one ;  but  surmise  was  still  rife  concerning  its 
mysterious  cause. 

Meanwhile,  Vinal  was  being  goaded  into  recklessness, 
frightened  out  of  his  propriety,  haunted,  devil-driven,  mad 
dened  into  desperate  courses.  Late  one  night,  he  was  pacing 
his  library,  with  a  quick,  disordered  step.  His  servants  were 
in  their  beds,  excepting  a  man,  nodding  his  drowsy  vigil  over 
the  kitchen  fire.  Vinal's  affairs  were  fast  drawing  to  a  crisis. 
A  few  weeks  must  determine  the  success  or  failure  of  a  broad 
scheme  of  fraud,  on  which  he  had  staked  his  fortunes  and 
himself,  and  whose  issues  would  sink  him  to  disgrace  and 
ruin,  or  lift  him  for  a  time  to  the  pinnacle  of  a  knave's  pros 
perity.  But,  meanwhile,  how  to  keep  his  head  above  water ! 
Claims  thickened  upon  him ;  he  was  meshed  in  a  network  of 
perplexities ;  and,  with  him,  bankruptcy  would  involve  far 
more  than  a  loss  of  fortune. 

There  was  a  ring  at  the  door  bell.  Vinal  stopped  short  in 
his  feverish  walk,  raised  his  head  with  a  startled  motion,  and 
listened  like  a  fox  who  hears  the  hounds.  His  instinct  fore 
boded  the  worst.  His  cheek  flushed,  and  his  eye  bright 
ened,  not  with  spirit,  but  with  desperation. 

The  bell  rang  again.  This  time,  the  sleepy  servant  roused 
himself.  Vinal  heard  his  step  along  the  hall ;  heard  the 
opening  of  the  street  door,  and  a  man's  voice  pronouncing  his 
name.  The  moment  after,  his  evil  spirit  stood  before  him,  in 
the  shape  of  Henry  Speyer. 

Vinal  gave  him  no  time  to  speak,  but  shutting  the  door  in 
the  servant's  face,  turned  upon  his  visitor  with  such  courage 
as  a  cat  will  show  when  a  bulldog  has  driven  her  into  a  corner. 


VASSALL    MORTON.  387 

"  Again  !  Are  you  here  again  ?  It  is  hardly  a  month 
since  you  were  here  last.  What  have  you  done  with  what 
I  gave  you  then  ?  Do  you  think  I  am  made  of  gold  ?  Do 
you  take  me  for  a  bank  that  you  can  draw  on  at  will  ? " 

"  I  am  sorry  to  trouble  you  so  soon,  but  I  am  very  hard 
pressed." 

"  Hard  pressed  !  So  am  I  hard  pressed.  Here  for  a  year 
and  more  I  have  been  supporting  you  in  your  extravagance  — 
'you  and  your  mistresses  ;  you  have  been  living  on  me  like 
princes,  —  dress,  drinking,  feasting,  horses,  gambling  !  — 
among  you,  you  make  my  money  spin  away  like  water. 
Every  well  has  a  bottom  to  it,  and  you  have  got  to  the  bottom 
of  mine." 

Speyer  laughed  with  savage  incredulity. 

"  Any  thing  in  reason  I  am  ready  to  do  for  you  ;  but  it's  of 
no  use.  More  !  more  !  is  always  the  word.  You  think  you 
have  found  a  gold  mine.  You  mistake.  Here  I  have  a  note 
due  to-morrow ;  and  another  on  Monday  —  that  was  for 
money  I  borrowed  to  give  you.  Heaven  knows  how  I  shall 
jpay  them.  Go  back,  and  come  again  a  month  from  this." 

"  It  won't  do.     I  must  have  it  now." 
.  *'  I  tell  you,  I  have  none  to  give  you." 

"  Do  you  see  this  ? "  said  Speyer,  producing  a  roll  of 
printed^  papers,  and  giving  one  to  Vinal. 

It  was  VinaPs  letter,  in  the  form  of  a  placard,  with  a  state 
ment  of  the  whole  affair  prefixed.  Speyer  had  had  it  printed 
secretly  in  New  York,  the  names  of  Morton  and  Vinal  being 
left  blank,  and  ingeniously  filled  in  by  himself  with  a  pen. 

"  Give  me  the  money,  or  show  me  how  to  get  it,  or  I  will 


888  VASSALL   MOETON. 

have  you  posted  up  at  every  street  corner  in  town.  I  have 
your  letter  here.  I  shall  send  it  to  your  Mend,  the  editor  of 
the  Sink." 

The  Sink  was  a  scurrilous  newspaper,  which  the  virtuous 
Vinal,  always  anxious  for  the  morals  of  the  city,  had  once 
caused  to  be  prosecuted  as  a  nuisance,  for  which  the  editor 
bore  him  a  special  grudge. 

But  Vinal  at  last  was  brought  to  bay.  Threats,  which 
Speyer  thought  irresistible,  had  lost  their  power.  He  threw 
back  the  paper,  and  said  desperately,  "  Do  what  you  will." 

Speyer  made  a  step  forward,  and  faced  his  prey. 

"  Will  you  give  me  the  money  ?  " 

«  By  G— ,  no  !  " 

«  By  G — ,  you  shall !  " 

And  Speyer  seized  him  by  the  breast  of  his  waistcoat. 

Vinal  had  been  trained  in  the  habits  of  a  gentleman.  He 
had  never  known  personal  outrage  before.  He  grew  purple 
with  rage.  The  veins  of  his  forehead  swelled  like  whipcord, 
and  his  eyes  glittered  like  a  rattlesnake's. 

"  Take  off  your  hand  !  " 

The  words  were  less  articulated  than  hissed  between  his 
teeth. 

"  Take  off  your  hand." 

Speyer  clutched  him  with  a  harder  gripe,  and  shook  him  to 
and  fro.  Quick  as  lightning,  Vinal  struck  him  in  the  face. 
Speyer  glared  and  grinned  on  his  victim  like  an  enraged  tiger. 
For  a  moment,  he  shook  him  as  a  terrier  shakes  a  rat ;  then 
flung  him  backward  against  the  farther  side  of  the  room. 
Here,  striking  the  wall,  he  fell  helpless,  among  the  window 


VASSALL    MORTON.  389 

curtains  and  overturned  chairs.  Speyer  would  probably  have 
followed  up  his  attack ;  but  at  the  instant,  the  servant,  who, 
by  a  happy  accident,  was  at  the  side  door,  in  the  near  neigh 
borhood  of  the  keyhole,  ran  in  in  time  to  save  Vinal  from 
more  serious  discomfiture. 

Speyer  hesitated ;  turned  from  one  to  the  other  with  mur 
der  in  his   look;  then,  slowly  moving  backwards,   left  the 
room,  whence  the  servant's  valor  did  not  mount  to  the  point 
of  following  him. 
33* 


CHAPTER   LXX. 


He  is  composed  and  framed  of  treachery, 

And  fled  he  is  upon  this  villany.  —  Much  Ado  about  Nothing. 


EDWAKD  MEREDITH,  the  affianced  bridegroom  of  Miss 
Fanny  Euston,  sailing  on  a  smooth  sea,  under  full  canvas, 
towards  the  pleasing  but  perilous  bounds  of  matrimony,  was 
walking  in  the  morning  towards  the  post  office,  in  the  frame 
of  mind  proper  to  his  condition.  He  passed  that  place  of 
unrest  where  the  Law  hangs  her  blazons  from  every  window, 
and  approached  the  heart  and  brain  of  the  city,  the  precinct 
sacred  to  commerce  and  finance.  Here,  gathered  about  a 
corner,  he  saw  a  crowd,  elbowing  each  other  with  unusual 
vehemence.  Meredith,  with  all  despatch,  crossed  over  to  the 
opposite  side.  But  here,  again,  his  attention  was  caught  by  a 
singular  clamor  among  the  rabble  of  newsboys,  as  noisy  and 
intrusive  as  a  flight  of  dorr-bugs  on  a  June  evening.  And, 
not  far  off,  another  crowd  was  gathered  at  the  office  of  the 
Weekly  Sink.  Curiosity  became  too  strong  for  his  native 
antipathy.  He  saw  an  acquaintance,  with  a  crushed  hat,  and 
a  face  of  bewildered  amazement,  just  struggling  out  of  the 
press. 

"  What's  the  row  ?  "  demanded  Meredith. 

(390) 


VASSALL    MORTON.  391 

"  Go  and  read  that  paper,"  returned  the  other,  with  an  as 
tonished  ejaculation,  of  more  emphasis  than  unction. 

Meredith  shouldered  into  the  crowd,  looked  over  the  hats 
of  some,  between  the  hats  of  others,  and  saw,  pasted  to  the 
stone  door  post,  a  placard  large  as  the  handbill  of  a  theatre. 
Over  it  was  displayed  a  sheet  of  paper,  on  which  was  daubed, 
in  ink,  the  words,  Astounding  Disclosures  !  !  !  Crime  in 
High  Life  !  !  !  !  And  on  the  placard  he  beheld  the  names 
of  his  classmate  Horace  Vinal,  and  his  friend  Vassall 
Morton. 

Meredith  pushed  and  shouldered  with  the  boldest,  gained 
a  favorable  position,  braced  himself  there,  and  ran  his  eye 
through  the  whole.  Then,  with  a  convulsive  effort,  he  re 
gained  his  liberty,  beckoned  a  newsboy,  and  purchased  the 
extra  sheet  of  the  Weekly  Sink.  Here,  however,  he  learned 
very  little.  The  editor,  taught  wisdom  by  experience,  had 
tempered  malice  with  caution.  He  spoke  of  the  duty  he  owed 
to  the  public,  his  position  as  guardian  and  censor  of  the  pub 
lic  morals,  and  affirmed  that,  in  this  capacity,  he  had  that 
morning  received  through  the  post  office  the  original  of  the 
letter  of  which  a  copy  was  printed  on  the  placards  posted  in 
various  parts  of  the  city.  With  the  letter  had  come  also 
an  anonymous  note,  highly  complimentary  to  himself  in  his 
official  capacity,  a  copy  of  which  he  subjoined.  As  for  the 
letter,  he  did  not  think  himself  called  upon  to  give  it  imme 
diate  publicity  in  his  columns ;  but  he  would  submit  it  for 
inspection  to  any  persons  anxious  to  see  it,  after  which  he 
should  place  it  in  the  hands  of  the  police. 

Though  the  editor  of  the  Sink  was  thus  discreet,  the  letter, 


392  VASSALL    MORTON. 

in  the  course  of  the  day,  found  its  way  into  several  of  the 
penny  papers,  to  which  copies  of  the  placard  containing  it 
had  been  mailed.  From  the  dram  shop  to  the  drawing  room, 
the  commotion  was  unspeakable.  The  mass  of  readers  floun 
dered  in  a  sea  of  crude  conjecture ;  but  those  who  knew  the 
parties,  recalling  a  faint  and  exploded  rumor  of  Morton's  en 
gagement  to  Miss  Leslie,  and  connecting  it  with  her  separa 
tion  from  Vinal,  gained  a  glimpse  of  something  like  the  truth. 

The  only  new  light  thrown  upon  the  matter  came  from  the 
servant,  who  told  all  that  he  knew,  and  much  more,  of  the 
nocturnal  scene  between  Speyer  and  Vinal,  affirming,  with 
much  complacency,  that  he  had  saved  his  master's  life.  Miss 
Leslie  and  Mrs.  Ashland  studiously  kept  silent.  Morton  was 
at  the  antipodes ;  while  the  unknown  divulger  of  the  mys 
tery  eluded  all  attempts  to  trace  him.  Speyer,  in  fact,  having 
sprung  his  mine,  had  fled  from  his  danger  and  his  debts,  and 
taking  passage  for  New  Orleans,  sailed  thence  to  Vera  Cruz. 

Meredith,  perplexed  and  astounded,  wrote  a  letter  to  Mor 
ton,  directing  it  to  Calcutta,  whither  the  latter  was  to  repair, 
after  voyaging  among  the  East  India  Islands. 

Meanwhile,  great  search  was  made  for  Vinal ;  but  Vinal 
was  nowhere  to  be  found. 


CHAPTER   LXXI. 

Now  would  I  give  a  thousand  furlongs  of  sea  for  an  acre  of  barren  ground.  —  Tempest. 

Let  the  great  gods, 

That  keep  this  dreadful  pother  o'er  our  heads, 
Find  out  their  enemies  now.    Tremble,  thou  wretch, 
That  hast  within  thee  undivulged  crimes 
Unwhipped  of  justice !    Ilide,  thou  bloody  hand; 
Thou  perjured  and  thou  simular  man  of  virtue, 
That  art  incestuous !    Caitiff,  to  pieces  shake, 
That  under  covert  and  convenient  seeming, 
Hast  practised  on  man's  life !  —  Lear. 

AT  one  o'clock  at  night,  in  the  midst  of  the  Atlantic,  a 
hundred  leagues  west  of  the  Azores,  the  bark  Swallow, 
freighted  with  salt  cod  for  the  Levant,  was  scudding  furiously, 
under  a  close-reefed  foresail,  before  a  fierce  gale.  On  board 
were  her  captain,  two  mates,  seven  men,  a  black  steward,  a 
cabin  boy,  and  Mr.  John  White,  a  passenger. 

The  captain  and  his  mates  were  all  on  deck.  John  White, 
otherwise  Horace  Vinal,  occupied  a  kind  of  store  room,  open 
ing  out  of  the  cabin.  Here  a  temporary  berth  had  been 
nailed  up  for  him,  while  on  the  opposite  side  were  stowed  a 
trunk  belonging  to  him,  and  three  barrels  of  onions  belong 
ing  to  the  vessel's  owners,  all  well  lashed  in  their  places. 

The  dead  lights  were  in,  but  the  seas,  striking  like  mallets 
against  the  stern,  pierced  in  fine  mist  through  invisible  crev 
ices,  bedrizzling  every  thing  with  salt  dew.  The  lantern, 


894  VASSA.LL    MORTON. 

hanging  from  the  cabin  roof,  swung  angrily  with  the  reckless 
plungings  of  the  vessel. 

Vinal  was  a  good  sailor ;  that  is  to  say,  he  was  not  very 
liable  to  that  ocean  scourge,  seasickness,  and  the  few  qualms 
he  had  suffered  were  by  this  time  effectually  frightened  out 
of  him.  As  darkness  closed,  he  had  lain  down  in  his  clothes  ; 
and  flung  from  side  to  side  till  his  bones  ached  with  the  inces 
sant  rolling  of  the  bark,  he  listened  sleeplessly  to  the  hide 
ous  booming  of  the  storm.  Suddenly  there  came  a  roar  so 
appalling,  that  he  leaped  out  of  his  berth  with  terror.  It 
seemed  to  him  as  if  a  Niagara  had  broken  above  the  vessel, 
and  was  crushing  her  down  to  the  nethermost  abyss.  The 
rush  of  waters  died  away.  Then  came  the  bellow  of  the 
speaking  trumpet,  the  trampling  of  feet,  the  shouts  of  men, 
the  hoarse  fluttering  of  canvas.  In  a  few  moments  he  felt 
a  change  in  the  vessel's  motion.  She  no  longer  rocked  with 
a  constant  reel  from  side  to  side,  but  seemed  flung  about  at 
random,  hither  and  thither,  at  the  mercy  of  the  storm. 

She  had  been,  in  fact,  within  a  hair's  breadth  of  founder 
ing.  A  huge  wave,  chasing  on  her  wake,  swelling  huger  and 
huger,  towering  higher  and  higher,  had  curled,  at  last,  its 
black  crest  abore  her  stern,  and,  breaking,  fallen  on  her  in  a 
deluge.  The  captain,  a  Barnstable  man  of  the  go-ahead 
stamp,  was  brought  at  last  to  furl  his  foresail  and  lie  to. 

Vinal,  restless  with  his  fear,  climbed  the  narrow  stairway 
which  led  up  to  the  deck,  and  pushed  open  the  door  at  the 
top  ;  but  a  blast  of  wind  and  salt  spray  clapped  it  in  his  face, 
and  would  have  knocked  him  to  the  foot  of  the  steps,  if  he 
had  not  clung  to  the  handrail.  He  groped  his  way  as  he 


VASSAL!,    MORTON.  395 

could  back  to  his  berth.  '  Here  he  lay  for  a  quarter  of  an 
hour,  when  the  captain  came  down,  enveloped  in  oilcloths, 
and  dripping  like  a  Newfoundland  dog  just  out  of  the  water. 
Vinal  emerged  from  his  den,  and  presenting  himself  with  his 
haggard  face,  and  hair  bristling  in  disorder,  questioned  the 
bedrenched  commander  touching  the  state  of  things  on  deck. 
But  the  latter  was  in  a  crusty  and  savage  mood. 

"  Hey !  what  is  it  ?  "  —  surveying  the  apparition  by  the 
light  of  the  swinging  lantern,  —  "  well,  you  be  a  beauty,  I'll 
be  damned  if  you  ain't." 

"  I  did  not  ask  you  how  I  looked ;  I  asked  you  about  the 
weather." 

"  Well,  it  ain't  the  sweetest  night  I  ever  see ;  but  I  guess 
you  won't  drown  this  time." 

"  My  friend,"  said  Vinal,  "  learn  to  mend  your  way  of  speak 
ing,  and  use  a  civil  tongue." 

The  captain  stared  at  him,  muttered  an  oath  or  two,  and 
then  turned  away. 

Day  broke,  and  Vinal  went  on  deck.  It  was  a  wild  dawn 
ing.  The  storm  was  at  its  height.  One  rag  of  a  topsail  was 
set  to  steady  the  vessel ;  all  the  rest  was  bare  poles  and  black 
dripping  cordage,  through  which  the  gale  yelled  like  a  forest  in 
a  tornado.  The  sky  was  dull  gray  ;  the  ocean  was  dull  gray. 
There  was  no  horizon.  The  vessel  struggled  among  tossing 
mountains,  while  tons  of  water  washed  her  decks,  and  the 
men,  half  drowned,  clung  to  the  rigging.  Vast  misshapen 
ridges  of  water  bore  down  from  the  windward,  breaking  into 
foam  along  their  crests,  struck  the  vessel  with  a  sullen  shock, 
burst  over  her  bulwarks,  deluged  her  from  stem  to  stern, 


396  VASSALL    MORTON. 

heaved  her  aloft  as  they  rolled  on,  and  then  left  her  to  sink 
again  into  the  deep  trough  of  the  sea. 

Vinal  was  in  great  fear  ;  but  nothing  in  his  look  betrayed 
it.  He  soon  went  below  to  escape  the  drenching  seas  ;  but 
towards  noon,  Hansen,  the  second  mate,  a  good-natured  old 
sea  dog,  came  down  with  the  welcome  news  that  the  gale 
had  suddenly  abated.  Vinal  went  on  deck  again,  and  saw  a 
singular  spectacle.  The  wind  had  strangely  lulled ;  but  the 
waves  were  huge  and  furious  as  ever  ;  and  the  bark  rose 
and  pitched,  and  was  flung  to  and  fro  with  great  violence,  but 
in  a  silence  almost  perfect.  Water,  in  great  quantities,  still 
washed  the  deck,  but.  found  ready  escape  through  a  large 
port  in  the  after  part  of  the  vessel,  the  lid  of  which,  hanging 
vertically,  had  been  left  unfastened. 

The  lull  was  of  short  space.  A  hoarse,  low  sound  began 
to  growl  in  the  distance  like  muffled  thunder.  It  grew 
louder,  —  nearer,  —  and  the  gale  was  on  them  again.  This 
time  it  blew  from  the  north-west,  and  less  fiercely  than  before. 
The  venturous  captain  made  sail.  The  yards  were  braced 
round  ;  and  leaning  from  the  wind  till  her  lee  gunwale  scooped 
the  water,  the  vessel  plunged  on  her  way  like  a  racehorse. 
The  clouds  were  rent ;  blue  sky  appeared.  Strong  winds 
tore  them  apart,  and  the  sun  blazed  out  over  the  watery  con 
vulsion,  changing  its  blackness  to  a  rich  blue,  almost  as  dark, 
where  the  whirling  streaks  of  foam  seemed  like  snow  wreaths 
on  the  mountains.  Jets  of  foam,  too,  spouted  from  under 
the  vessel's  bows,  as  she  dashed  them  against  the  opposing 
seas ;  and  the  prickling  spray  flew  as  high  as  the  main  top. 


VASSALL    MORTON.  397 

The  ocean  was  like  a  viking  in  his  robust  carousals,  —  terror 
and  mirth,  laughter  and  fierceness,  all  in  one. 

But  the  mind  of  Vinal  was  blackness  and  unmixed  gall. 
His  game  was  played  and  lost.  The  worst  that  he  feared  had 
befallen  him.  Suspense  was  over,  and  he  was  freed  from  the 
incubus  that  had  ridden  him  so  long.  A  something  like 
relief  mixed  itself  with  his  bitter  and  vindictive  musings. 
He  had  not  fled  empty  handed.  He  and  Morton's  friend 
Sharpe  had  been  joint  trustees  of  a  large  estate,  a  part 
of  which,  in  a  form  that  made  it  readily  available,  happened 
to  be  in  Vinal's  hands  at  the  time  of  his  crisis.  Dread 
of  his  quick- sighted  and  vigilant  colleague  had  hitherto 
prevented  him  from  applying  it  to  his  own  uses.  But  this 
fear  had  now  lost  its  force.  He  took  it  with  him  on  his 
flight,  and  converted  it  into  money  in  New  York,  where  he 
had  embarked. 

At  night  the  descent  of  Hansen  to  supper  was  a  welcome 
diversion  to  his  lonely  thoughts.  The  old  sailor  seated  him 
self  at  the  table  :  — 

"  I've  lost  all  my  appetite,  and  got  a  horse's.  Here,  stew 
ard,  you  nigger,  where  be  yer  ?  Fetch  along  that  beefsteak. 
What  do  you  call  this  here  ?  Well,  never  mind  what  you 
call  it,  here  goes  into  it,  any  how." 

A  silent  and  destructive  onslaught  upon  the  dish  before  him 
followed.  Then,  laying  down  his  knife  and  fork  for  a  mo 
ment,  — 

"  I've  knowed  the  time  when  I  could  have  ate  up  the  doc 
tor  there,"  —  pointing  to  the  steward,  —  "  bones  and  all,  and 
couldn't  get  a  mouthful,  no  way  you  could  fix  it."  Then, 
34 


398  VASSALL    MORTON. 

resuming  his  labors,  "  Tell  you  what,  squire,  this  here 
agrees  with  me.  Come  out  of  that  berth  now,  and  sit  down 
here  alongside  o'  me.  Just  walk  into  that  beefsteak,  like  I 
do.  That  'ere  beats  physicking  all  holler." 

Thus  discoursing,  partly  to  himself  and  partly  to  Vinal, 
and,  by  turns,  berating  the  grinning  steward  in  a'  jocular 
strain,  Mr.  Hansen  continued  his  repast.  When,  at  last, 
he  left  the  cabin,  Vinal  found  the  solitude  too  dreary  for 
endurance ;  and,  to  break  its  monotony,  he  also  went  on 
deck. 

The  vessel  still  scoured  wildly  along ;  and  as  she  plunged 
through  the  angry  seas,  so  the  moon  was  sailing  among 
stormy  clouds,  now  eclipsed  and  lost,  now  shining  brightly 
out,  silvering  the  seething  foam,  and  casting  the  shadows  of 
spars  and  rigging  on  the  glistening  deck.  Vinal  bent  over 
the  bulwark  and  looked  down  on  the  bubbles,  as  they  fled 
past,  flashing  in  the  moon. 

His  thoughts  flew  backward  with  them,  and  dwelt  on  the 
hated  home  from  which  he  was  escaping. 

"  What  an  outcry  !  what  gapes  of  wonder,  and  eyes  turned 
up  to  heaven  !  Gulled,  befooled,  hoodwinked  !  and  now,  at 
last,  you  have  found  it  out,  and  make  earth  and  heaven  ring 
with  your  virtuous  spite.  I  knew  you  all,  and  played  you  as 
I  would  play  the  pieces  on  a  chess  board.  The  game  was  a 
good  one  in  the  main,  but  with  some  blunders,  and  for  those 
I  pay  the  price.  If  I  had  had  that  villain's  brute  strength, 
and  the  brute  nerve  that  goes  with  it,  there  would  have  been 
a  different  story  to  tell.  Before  this,  I  would  have  found  a  way 
to  grind  him  to  the  earth,  and  set  my  foot  on  his  neck. 


YASSALL    MORTON.  399 

They  think  him  virtuous.  He  thinks  himself  so.  The  shal- 
low-witted  idiots  !  Their  eyes  can  only  see  skin-deep.  They 
love  to  be  cheated.  They  swallow  fallacies  as  a  child  swal 
lows  sweetmeats.  The  tinsel  dazzles  them,  and  they  take  it 
for  gold.  Virtue  !  a  delusion  of  self-interest  —  self-interest, 
the  spring,  lever,  and  fulcrum  of  the  world.  It  is  for  my 
interest,  for  every  body's  interest,  that  his  neighbors  should 
be  honest,  candid,  open,  forgiving,  charitable,  continent,  sober, 
and  what  not.  Therefore,  by  the  general  consent  of  man 
kind,  —  the  inevitable  instinct  of  self-interest,  —  such  quali 
ties  are  exalted  into  sanctity  ;  christened  with  the  name  of 
virtues  ;  draped  in  white,  and  crowned  with  halos  ;  rewarded 
with  praises  here  and  paradise  hereafter.  Drape  the  skeleton 
as  you  will,  the  bare  skeleton  is  still  there.  Paint  as  thick 
as  you  will,  the  bare  skull  grins  under  it,  —  to  all  who  have 
the  eyes  to  see,  and  the  hardihood  to  use  them.  How  many 
among  mankind  have  courage  to  face  the  naked  truth  ?  Not 
one  in  a  thousand.  Cannot  the  fools  draw  reason  out  of  the 
analogy  of  things  ?  Can  they  not  see  that,  as  their  bodies 
will  be  melted  and  merged  into  the  bodily  substance  of  the 
world,  so  their  minds  will  be  merged  in  the  great  universal 
mind,  —  the  animus  mundi, — out  of  which  they  sprang,  like 
bubbles  on  the  water,  and  into  which  they  will  sink  again,  like 
bubbles  when  they  burst  ?  Immortality  !  They  may  please 
themselves  with  the  name  ;  but  of  what  worth  is  an  immor 
tality  where  individuality  is  lost,  and  each  conscious  atom 
drowned  in  the  vast  immensity  ?  What  a  howling  and 
screeching  the  wind  makes  in  the  rigging  !  If  I  were  given 
to  superstition,  I  could  fancy  that  a  legion  from  the  nether 


400  VASSALL   MOBTON. 

• 

world  were  bestriding  the  ropes,  yelping  in  grand  jubilation 

at  the  sight  of " 

Here  his  thoughts  were  abruptly  cut  short.  A  combing 
wave  struck  the  vessel.  She  lurched  with  violence,  and  a 
shower  of  foam  flew  over  her  side.  Vinal  lost  his  balance. 
His  feet  slipped  from  under  him.  He  fell,  and  slid  quickly 
across  the  wet  and  tossing  deck.  Instinctively  he  braced 
his  feet  to  stop  himself  against  the  bulwark  on  the  lee  side. 
But  at  the  point  where  they  touched  it  was  the  large  port 
before  mentioned.  Though  closed  to  all  appearance,  the  bolt 
was  still  unfastened.  It  flew  open  at  his  touch.  Vinal 
clutched  to  save  himself.  His  fingers  slipped  on  the  wet 
timbers,  and  with  a  cry  of  horror,  he  was  shot  into  the  bub 
bling  surges.  There  was  a  blinding  in  his  eyes,  a  ringing  in 
his  ears  ;  then,  for  an  instant,  he  saw  the  light,  and  the  black 
hulk  of  the  vessel  fled  past  like  a  shadow.  Then  a  wave 
swept  over  him :  all  was  darkness  and  convulsion,  and  a 
maddened  sense  of  being  flung  high  aloft,  as  the  wave  rolled 
him  towards  its  crest  like  a  drift  sea  weed.  Here  again  light 
broke  upon  him ;  and  flying  above  the  merciless  chaos,  he 
saw  something  like  the  white  wing  of  a  huge  bird.  It  was 
the  reefed  main-topsail  of  the  receding  vessel.  He  shrieked 
wildly.  A  torrent  of  brine  dashed  back  the  cry,  and  foam 
ing  over  his  head,  plunged  him  down  into  darkness  again. 
Again  he  rose,  gasping  and  half  senseless  ;  and  again  the 
ravenous  breakers  beat  him  down.  A  moment  of  struggle 
and  of  agony ;  then  a  long  nightmare  of  dreamy  horror, 
while,  slowly  settling  downward,  he  sank  below  the  turmoil 
of  the  storm ;  slowly  and  more  slowly  still,  till  the  denser 


VASSALL    MORTON.  401 

water  sustained  his  weight.  Then  with  limbs  outstretched, 
he  hovered  in  mid  ocean,  lonely,  void,  and  vast,  like  a 
hawk  poised  in  mid-air,  while  his  felon  spirit,  bubbling 
to  the  surface,  winged  its  dreary  flight  through  the  whistling 

storm. 

34* 


CHAPTER    LXXII. 

Adventure  and  endurance  and  emprise 
Exalted  his  mind's  faculties,  and  strung 
His  body's  sinews.  —  Bryant. 

ON  a  rock,  at  the  end  of  the  promontory  which  forms  the 
harbor  of  Beyrout,  stood  Vassall  Morton ;  and  at  his  side 
his  friend  Buckland,  whom  he  had  met  in  New  York  just 
after  his  return  from  Austria.  They  had  encountered  again 
in  the  East  Indies,  and  had  made  together  a  long  and  varied 
journey,  not  without  hardship  and  danger,  among  the  tribes 
of  Upper  India  and  Central  Asia.  Buckland  was  greatly 
changed.  His  look  and  bearing  betokened  recovered  health 
and  spirit ;  while  his  companion,  in  the  fulness  of  masculine 
vigor,  was  swarthy  as  an  Arab  with  the  long  burning  of  the 
Eastern  sun. 

"  Our  travels  are  over,  Buckland.  We  have  nothing  to  do, 
now,  but  to  get  on  board  ship,  and  lie  still  for  a  few  weeks, 
and  we  shall  be  at  home  again.  I  hardly  know  why  it  is 
that  I  wish  so  much  to  shorten  the  space,  unless  from  a  cat 
like  propensity  to  haunt  old  places." 

"  And  to  see  your  friends  again." 

"  Yes,  that  is  something  —  a  good  deal.  I  have  friends 
enough,  unless  they  have  died  since  I  last  heard  from  them. 
But  for  household  gods,  I  have  none ;  or,  rather,  my  ancestral 

(402) 


VASSALL    MOKT03ST.  403 

Lares  have  no  better  abode  than  an  old  clapboarded  parson 
age  in  an  up-country  Yankee  village.  You  are  much  more 
fortunate  in  that  respect.  You  go  home  again,  besides,  a  new 
man,  rejuvenated  in  mind  and  body." 

"  Thanks  to  you  for  that.  I  was  a  wreck  till  you  set  me 
afloat  and  refitted  me." 

"  I  gave  you  a  shove  off  shore ;  but  the  refitting  came 
afterwards,  and  was  no  doing  of  mine.  I  should  hardly 
know  you  for  the  same  man." 

"  That  infatuation  seems  to  me  like  a  dream,  as  I  remem 
ber  you  prophesied  on  the  evening  when  we  sat  together  on 
the  Battery." 

"  Half  of  a  woman's  weakness  springs  from  the  sensitive 
ness  of  her  bodily  organization  ;  and  three  fourths  of  your 
infatuation  may  be  laid  to  the  same  account.  One  may  say 
that,  without  any  tendency  to  flounder  into  materialism.  You 
are  a  man  again  now  ;  and  even  if  you  had  not  heard  of 
your  sorceress's  death,  you  might  go  back,  I  think,  without 
the  least  fear  of  her  spells." 

"  I  hope  so  ;  but  I  wish  that,  like  you,  I  had  some  engross 
ing  object  to  return  to." 

"  I  wish  that,  like  you,  I  had  a  family,  and  a  fixed  home  to 
return  to.  My  travels  are  finished,  though.  I  have  roamed 
the  world  enough.  My  objects  are  accomplished,  as  well  as 
I  could  ever  accomplish  them.  I  have  not  wandered  for 
nothing  ;  and  now  I  shall  bend  myself  to  make  my  journey- 
ings  bear  what  fruit  I  can.  By  the  sun,  and  by  my  watch, 
it  is  time  for  the  consul  to  have  returned.  Did  not  his  ser 
vant  say  that  he  would  come  ashore  from  the  frigate  at 
about  six  ?  " 


404  VASSALL    MOBTOX. 

"  Yes." 

"  If  he  does  not,  I  will  get  a  boat  and  go  to  find  him.  He 
must  have  letters  for  one  or  the  other  of  us." 

"  I  will  ride  to  the  town,  and  see  if  he  has  come." 

"  Very  well ;  I  will  wait  for  you  here." 

Their  horses  were  near  at  hand,  in  the  keeping  of  an  Arab 
servant.  Buckland  mounted  his  own,  and  rode  off". 

Morton  seated  himself  on  a  jutting  edge  of  the  rock  over 
hanging  the  bay,  and  gave  himself  up  to  his  thoughts. 

"  Two  years  of  wandering  !  Two  years  more,  and  I  should 
grow  like  the  man  in  Anastasius,  never  happy  at  rest,  never 
content  in  motion.  I  have  had  my  fill  of  adventure.  I  must 
learn  repose  before  it  is  too  late.  Why  is  it  that  I  look  so 
longingly  towards  America  ?  Except  half  a  dozen  near 
friends,  I  have  no  ties  there  that  are  worth  the  name.  Amer 
ica  is  the  paradise  of  the  laboring  class,  the  purgatory  of 
those  of  educated  tastes.  What  career  is  open  to  me  there, 
that  I  could  not  better  follow  elsewhere  ?  I  have  chosen  my 
path.  I  have  an  object  which  fills  and  -engrosses  me,  and 
would  fill  the  lifetime  of  twenty  men  abler  than  I.  America 
is  not  my  best  field  of  labor  ;  but  where  else  should  I  plant 
myself?  I  could  not  live  in  England.  I  am  of  English  race, 
but  of  an  altered  type  ;  too  like,  and  too  unlike,  to  find  har 
mony  there.  The  continent  is  more  cosmopolitan ;  but  it 
would  be  a  dreary  life.  I  should  grow  homesick,  thinking 
of  the  old  woods  and  rocks.  I  will  go  home,  buckle  to  my 
work,  and  end  my  days  where  I  began  them. 

"  My  life  has  been,  in  its  small  way,  a  varied  one  ;  very 
hard,  at  times,  but  perhaps  none  too  much  so.  Blows  are 


YASSALL   MOKTON.  405 

good  for  most  men,  and  suffering,  to  the  farthest  limit  of  their 
endurance,  what  they  most  need.  It  is  a  child's  part  to 
complain  under  any  fate  ;  and  what  color  of  complaint  have 
I,  or  any  man  sound  in  mind  and  body,  and  with  the  world 
free  before  him  ?  And  yet  I  turn  girl-hearted  when  I  think 
of  that  summer  evening  by  the  lake  at  Matherton.  What  is 
my  fate  to  Edith  Leslie's  ?  How  will  a  few  years  of  suffering, 
with  one  deadening  memory  in  their  wake,  compare  with  her 
life-long  endurance  ?  A  woman's  nature,  it  is  said,  will 
mould  itself  into  conformity  with  her  husband's.  I  will 
rather  believe  that  Vinal's  presence,  instead  of  drawing  her 
to  itself,  has  repelled  her  upward  into  a  higher  atmosphere, 
and  made  her  life  as  lofty  as  it  must  be  sad.  I  wish  to  go 
back,  and  yet  I  shrink  from  this  voyage.  I  have  some  cause, 
remembering  my  last  welcome  home.  Heaven  knows  what  I 
may  learn  of  her  this  time.  It  was  her  marriage  then  ;  per 
haps  it  will  be  her  death  now.  And  which  of  the  two  will 
have  been  the  worse  either  for  me  to  hear  or  for  her  to  under 
go  ?  Perhaps  these  letters  may  bring  some  word  of  her ; 
though  that  is  not  likely,  for  none  of  my  friends,  but  one, 
know  that  I  should  have  any  special  interest  in  hearing  it. 
If  they  write  of  her,  it  will  be  some  news  of  disaster." 

These  dismal  forebodings  weighed  upon  him,  and  his  desire 
to  have  them  resolved  soon  grew  so  importunate,  that  mount 
ing  his  horse,  he  followed  Buckland's  track  towards  the  town. 
Threading  the  busy  streets,  he  stopped  before  a  door  adorned 
with  the  effigy  of  a  spread  eagle  wearing  a  striped  shield 
about  his  neck,  and  clutching  thunderbolts  and  olive  boughs 
in  his  claws.  He  threw  the  rein  to  his  servant,  mounted  the 
consular  stair,  and  at  the  head  met  Buckland  emerging. 


406  VASSALL    MOETON. 

"  Is  the  consul  come  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  and  letters  for  you.  I  am  sorry  for  you,  if  you 
mean  to  answer  them  all." 

And  he  gave  Morton  a  formidable  packet.  Morton  cut 
the  string. 

"  These  are  all  six  or  eight  months  old.  They  are  post 
marked  from  Calcutta." 

"  Yes,  they  came  after  we  had  gone  up  the  country,  and 
were  sent  back  to  this  place  to  meet  you.  Wait  a  moment ; 
here  are  more.  These  two  have  just  come  from  England." 

Morton  took  them  ;  recognized  on  one  the  handwriting  of 
Meredith ;  on  the  other,  that  of  his  friend  Mrs.  Ashland. 
His  heart  leaped  to  his  throat ;  he  tore  open  the  seal,  and 
glanced  down  the  page. 

Buckland  saw  his  agitation. 

"  No  bad  news,  I  trust." 

"  I  had  an  enemy,  and  he  is  dead.  You  shall  know  more 
of  it  to-morrow." 

And  hastening  from  the  house,  he  mounted  again,  and 
through  the  midst  of  mules,  donkeys,  dromedaries,  men,  chil 
dren,  and  old  women,  rode  at  an  unlawful  speed  towards  his 
lodging. 

Here,  with  a  beating  heart,  he  explored  his  profuse  corre 
spondence  from  beginning  to  end.  By  the  Calcutta  packet, 
he  learned  how  his  native  town  had  been  thrown  into  commo 
tion  by  the  exposure  and  flight  of  Vinal,  and  how  his  friends 
were  eager  and  impatient  to  hear  his  explanation  of  the  affair. 
The  more  recent  letters  bore  tidings  still  more  startling.  The 
bark  Swallow  had  touched  at  Gibraltar,  and  a  letter  from 


VASSALL    MOKTON.  407 

her  captain  to  her  owners,  forwarded  by  the  Oriental  steamer 
on  her  return  voyage,  told  how  his  passenger,  John  White, 
had  been  lost  overboard  during  a  gale,  two  of  the  crew  hav 
ing  seen  the  accident ;  how,  arriving  at  Gibraltar,  his  trunks 
had  been  opened  in  the  consul's  presence,  to  learn  his  address  ; 
and  how,  along  with  a  large  amount  of  money  in  gold,  letters 
and  papers  had  been  found,  showing  that  he  was  not  John 
White,  but  Horace  Vinal,  of  Boston.  *  *  * 

On  the  next  morning,  Morton  despatched  a  letter  to  Mere 
dith.  In  it,  he  told  his  friend  the  whole  course  of  his  story ; 
and  these  were  the  closing  words  :  — 

"  One  thing  you  may  well  believe  —  that,  before  you  will 
have  had  this  letter  many  days,  I  shall  follow  it.  There  will 
be  no  rest  for  me  till  I  touch  American  soil.  An  old  passion, 
only  half  stifled  under  a  load  of  hopelessness,  springs  into 
fresh  life  again,  and  burns,  less  brightly,  perhaps,  but  I  can 
almost  believe,  more  deeply  and  fervently  than  ever.  I  was 
consoling  myself  yesterday  with  trying  to  think  that  blows 
were  my  mind's  best  medicine ;  but  I  feel  now,  that  after 
being  broken  with  the  plough  and  harrow,  it  will  yield  the 
better  for  the  summer  sunshine.  Yet  I  am  afraid  to  flatter 
myself  with  too  bright  a  prospect.  Miss  Leslie  loved  me, 
and  the  planets  in  their  course  are  not  more  constant  and 
unswerving  ;  but  I  cannot  tell  what  may  have  been  the  effect 
of  so  much  suffering,  or  what  determination,  fatal  to  my  hope, 
it  may  not  have  impelled  her  to  embrace.  She  will  soon 
know  my  mind.  I  have  written  to  her,  and  begged  her  to 
send  her  reply  to  New  York,  where,  if  my  reckoning  does 
not  fail,  T  shall  arrive  about  the  middle  of  June.  By  it 


408  TASSALL    MOBTOX. 

I  shall  be   able   to  judge   to  what  fortune  I  am  to   look 
forward. 

"  You  have  so  lately  passed  your  own  anxieties,  that  you 
will  easily  appreciate  mine.  I  can  wish  for  them  nothing 
more  than  that  they  may  find  as  happy  an  issue  ;  and  I  will 
take  it  as  an  earnest  of  the  intentions  of  destiny  towards  me 
that  it  has  just  brought  together  my  two  best  friends." 


CHAPTEB   LXXIII. 

Joy  never  feasts  so  high 

As  when  his  first  course  is  of  misery.  —  Suckling. 

AGAIN  the  Jersey  heights  rose  on  the  eye  of  Morton,  and 
the  woods  and  villas  of  Staten  Island.  Again  the  broad 
breast  of  New  York  harbor  opened  before  him,  sparkling  in 
the  June  sun ;  the  rugged  front  of  the  Castle,  and  the  ta 
pering  spire  of  Trinity.  He  bethought  him  of  his  last  re 
turn,  and  its  unforgotten  blackness  threw  its  shadow  across 
his  mind.  He  turned,  doubting  and  tremulous,  towards  the 
future  ;  but  here  his  horizon  brightened  as  with  the  sunrise, 
shooting  to  the  zenith  its  shafts  of  tranquil  light. 

Meanwhile,  the  telegraph  had  darted  to  Boston  a  notice 
that  the  approaching  steamer  had  been  signalled  off  the  coast. 
Meredith  took  the  night  train  to  meet  his  friend ;  but,  arriv 
ing,  he  learned  that  Morton  was  already  on  shore.  Driving 
from  one  hotel  to  another,  he  found,  at  length,  the  latter' s 
resting-place. 

"  Shall  I  take  up  your  name,  sir? " 
"No,  show  me  his  room;  I  will  go  myself." 
He   knocked   at   the   door.     There  was  no  answer.     He 
knocked  again,  and  a  voice  replied  suddenly,  like  that  of  a 
man  roused  from  a  revery. 
35 


410  .  VASSALL    MORTON. 

He  entered ;  and  at  the  next  moment,  Morton  grasped  his 
hand. 

"You  have  found  yourself  again,"  said  Meredith;  "you 
have  grown  back  again  to  your  old  look." 

Morton's  eye  glistened. 

"  I  think  I  know  the  handwriting  of  that  letter.  Miss 
Leslie's,  —  I  will  call  her  so  still  —  it  is  hers,  is  it  not?  " 

"Yes." 

"  She  writes,  I  trust,  what  you  hoped  to  hear." 

"  All  that  I  hoped,  and  much  more." 

"  I  am  glad  of  it  from  my  heart.  Fortune  has  been  hard 
enough  upon  you.  She  was  bound  to  pay  you  her  score." 

"She  has  done  so  with  usury." 

"  Are  you  going  to  Boston  this  afternoon  ?  " 

«  Yes." 

"  Then  you  have  just  two  hours  to  spare.  If  you  have  any 
leisure  for  such  sublunary  matters,  we  had  better  get  dinner 
at  once.  Romeo  himself,  at  his  worst  case,  asks  his  friend 
when  they  shall  dine." 

Three  hours  later,  the  eastward-bound  steamer  was  plough 
ing  the  Sound,  and  Morton  and  Meredith  paced  her  deck. 

"  I  have  told  you  now  the  whole  history,  from  first  to  last. 
I  need  not  ask  you  to  forgive  my  having  kept  it  secret  from 
you  so  long." 

"  Why  should  you  ask  me  ?  Every  man  has  a  right  to  his 
own  secrets,  and  I  like  him  the  better  for  keeping  them. 
Vinal,  at  all  events,  had  good  cause  to  thank  you." 

"  He  is  dead ;  and  his  memory,  if  it  will,  had  better  die 
with  him." 


VASSALL    MORTON.  41 1 

"  You  said  in  your  letter  that  his  agent  was  called  Henry 
Speyer.  I, thought,  at  the  time,  that  I  had  seen  the  name 
before ;  and  a  day  or  two"  since,  I  found  it  accidentally  again. 
The  newspapers,  two  months  or  more  ago,  mention  a  foreigner 
called  Henry  Speyer  as  an  officer  in  this  last  piratical  forray 
into  Cuba.  His  party  lost  their  way,  fell  into  an  ambuscade 
of  government  soldiers,  and  Speyer  was  shot  through  the 
head." 

"  He  found  a  better  end  than  his  principal." 
"  And  deserved  a  better  one.     A  professed  rascal  is  better 
than  a  pharisee." 


CHAPTER,   LXXIV. 

The  rainbow  to  the  storms  of  life ; 
The  evening  beam  that  smiles  the  clouds  away.  —  Bride,  of  Abydos. 

MORTON  rode  along  the  edge  of  the  lake  at  Matherton. 
He  passed  under  the  shadowy  verdure  of  the  pines,  and  ap 
proached  the  old  family  mansion  of  the  Leslies.  It  was 
years  since  he  had  seen  it.  His  imprisonment,  his  escape,  his 
dreary  greeting  home,  all  lay  between.  He  was  the  same 
man,  yet  different ;  —  with  a  mind  calmed  by  experience,  and 
strong  by  action  and  endurance  ;  an  ardor  which  had  lost  all 
of  its  intoxication,  but  none  of  its  force  ;  and  which,  as  the 
past  and  the  present  rose  upon  his  thoughts,  was  tempered 
with  a  melancholy  which  had  in  it  nothing  of  pain. 

The  hall  door  stood  open,  as  if  to  welcome  him.  The 
roses  and  the  laurels  were  in  bloom ;  the  grass,  ripe  for  the 
scythe,  was  waving  in  the  meadow  ;  and,  by  glimpses  between 
the  elm  and  maple  boughs,  the  lake,  crisped  in  the  June  wind, 
was  sparkling  with  the  sunlight. 

Morton  dismounted ;  his  foot  was  on  the  porch ;  but  he 
had  no  time  for  thought ;  for  a  step  sounded  in  the  hall,  and 
Edith  met  him  on  the  threshold. 

#  #  •%•  #  *  « 

That  evening,  at  sunset,  Miss  Leslie  and  Morton  stood  on 

(412) 


VASSALL    MORTON.  413 

the  brink  of  the  lake,  at  the  foot  of  the  garden.  It  was  the 
spot  which  had  been  most  sweet  and  most  bitter  in  the  latter's 
recollections. 

"  Do  you  remember,  Edith,  when  we  last  stood  here  ?  " 

"  How  could  I  ever  forget  ?  " 

"  The  years  that  have  passed  since  are  like  a  nightmare. 
I  could  believe  them  so,  but  that  I  feel  their  marks." 

"And  I,  as  well;  we  were  boy  and  girl  then." 

"  At  least,  I  was  a  boy  ;  and,  do  you  know,  I  find  you  dif 
ferent  from  what  I  had  pictured  you." 

"  Should  I  be  sorry  for  it,  or  glad  ?  " 

"  I  had  pictured  you  as  I  saw  you  last,  very  calm,  very 
resolute,  very  sad  ;  but  you  are  like  the  breaking  of  a  long, 
dull  storm.  The  sun  shines  again,  and  the  world  glows  the 
brighter  for  past  rain  and  darkness." 

"  Could  I  have  welcomed  you  home  with  a  sad  face  ? 
Could  I  be  calm  and  cold,  now  that  I  have  found  what  I 
thought  was  lost  forever  ?  —  when  the  ashes  of  my  life  have 
kindled  into  flame  again?  Because  J,  and  others,  have 
known  sorrow-}  should  I  turn  my  face  into  a  homily,  and  be 
your  lifelong  memento  mori  ?  " 

"  It  is  a  brave  heart  that  can  hide  a  deep  thought  under  a 
smile." 

"And  a  weak  one  that  is  always  crouching  among  the 
shadows." 

"  There  is  an  abounding  spirit  of  faith  in  you ;  the  essence 
which  makes  heroes,  from  Joan  of  Arc  to  Jeanie  Deans." 

"  I  know  no  one  with  faith  like  yours,  which  could  hold  to 
you  through  all  your  years  of  living  burial." 
35* 


414  VASSALL    MORTON. 

"  Mine  !  it  was  wrenched  to  its  uttermost  roots.  I  thought 
the  world  was  given  over  to  the  devil." 

"  But  that  was  only  for  the  moment." 

"  I  consoled  myself  with  imagining  that  I  had  come  to  the 
worst,  and  that  any  change  must  needs  be  for  the  better ; 
but  now  I  am  lifted  of  a  sudden  to  such  a  pitch  of  fortune, 
that  I  tremble  at  it.  Many  a  man,  my  equal  or  superior,  no 
weaker  in  heart  or  meaner  in  aim  than  I,  has  been  fettered 
through  his  days  by  cramping  poverty,  while  I  stand  mailed 
and  weaponed  at  all  points.  Many  a  man  of  noble  instincts 
and  high  requirements  has  found  in  life  nothing  but  a  mock 
ery  of  his  imaginings,  —  a  bright  dream,  matched  with  a  base 
reality.  Who  can  blame  him  if  he  turn  cynic?  I  have 
dreamed  a  dream,  too ;  wakened,  and  found  it  a  living 
truth." 


PHILLIPS,  SAMPSON,  &  CO  d  PUBLICATIONS. 

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deterred  from  grappling  with  abstract  truths,  will  find  in  these  essays  a  rare  pleas 
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"  It  is  certainly  one  of  the  most  fascinating  books  ever  written,  whether  we 
consider  its  subtile  verbal  felicities,  its  deep  and  shrewd  observation,  its  keen  crit 
icism.  its  wit  or  learning,  its  v/isdcm  or  beauty.  For  fineness  of  wit,  imagination, 
observation,  satire,  au  1  sentiment,  the  book  hardly  has  its  equal  ill  American  lit 
erature."  —  E.  P.  Whipple. 

"It  is  a  thoughtful  book,  and  better  adapted  to  please  the  majority  of  readers 
than  any  previous  attempt  of  the  writer."  —  H.  T.  Tuckerman, 

"This  is  not  an  ordinary  book."  —  London  Athenceum. 


CRITICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  ESSAYS, 

By  Thomas  Carlyle.     In  one  volume,  octavo,  with  Portrait 

Price,  in  muslin,  $1.75. 

This  vigorous  and  profound  writer  has  been  chiefly  known  to  the  public  at 
large  from  the  caricatures  of  hi*  style  published  by  those  to  whom  drapery  and 
ornament  are  of  more  consequence  than  vital  force.  The  faults  of  Carlyle  ar« 
Hufficiently  obvious;  they  lie  upon  the  very  sWface ;  but  for  nicety  of  analysis, 
power,  and  closeness  of  logic,  manliness  of  utterance,  and  genuine  enthusiasm 
for  what  he  deems  the  good  and  true,  no  critic  is  more  justly  entitled  to  admiration 


PHILLIPS,  SAMPSON,  &  CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS. 

THE  LATER  ESSAYS  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE, 

(Latter  Day  Pamphlets.)     In  one  volume,  12mo.     Price,  in 
muslin,  60  cents. 


ESSAYS,  CRITICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS, 

By  Thomas  Babington  Macaulay,  author  of  a  History  of  Eng 
land.     In  one  volume,  octavo,  with  Portrait.     Price,  in  muslin, 

$2. 

Whoever  wishes  to  gain  the  most  extensive  acquaintance  with  English  history 
and  English  literature  in  the  briefest  space  of  time,  will  read  the  Essays  of  Ma 
caulay.  It  is  emphatically  the  book  to,direct  the  student  in  his  researches ;  and 
at  the  same  time  the  brilliancy  of  the  author's  style,  his  learning  and  vast  fund 
of  information,  and  the  pertinency  of  his  illustrations,  render  his  writings  as 
fascinating  to  every  thinking  mind  as  the  most  splendid  work  of  fiction.  More 
scholars  and  critics  of  the  present  day  owe  their  first  impulse  to  self-culture  to 
Macanlay  than  to  any  other  writer. 

"  Undoubtedly  the  prince  of  the  English  essayists." 


THE  WORKS  OF  REV,  SYDNEY  SMITH, 

(Consisting  principally  of  articles  contributer"  to  the  Edinburgn 
Keview.)  In  one  volume,  octavo,  -with  Portrait.  Price,  in 
muslin,  $1.25. 

The  Edinburgh  Review,  so  long  known  as  the  leading  Quarterly  of  Great  Brit 
ain,  perhaps  owed  its  existence  and  its  reputation  more  to  Sydney  Smith  than  to 
either  of  his  illustrious  compeers  —  Brougham,  Macaulay,  and  Jeffrey.  The  good 
sense  and  simplicity  of  his  style,  no  less  than  his  vigorous  logic  and  bristling  wit, 
have  rendered  his  name  known  wherever  the  English  language  is  spoken.  The 
interest  in  his  writings  will  outlive  the  occasions  which  called  them  forth,  and 
they  may  now  be  placed  among  the  British  classics. 


CONTRIBUTIONS  TO  THE  EDINBURGH  REVIEW, 

By  Francis  Lord  Jeffrey.     In  one  vohime,  octavo,  with  Portrait. 
Price,  in  muslin,  $2. 


PHILLIPS,  SAMPSON,  &  CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS. 

In  these  articles  of  Jeffrey,  the  curious  reader  may  see  a  history  of  English  lit- 
aratnro  for  the  last  fifty  years.  Now  that  Scott,  Campbell,  Wordsworth,  Byron, 
and  a  few  others  are  immortal  beyond  cavil  or  peradveiiture,  with  what  interest 
do  we  look  for  the  first  impressions  which  their  works  made  upon  the  mind  of 
their  contemporary  and  reviewer!  Aside  from  his  learning,  vigor,  acuteness, 
and  general  impartiality,  Jeffrey  will  be  read  for  many  years  to  come  for  his  awo- 
ciation  with  the  eminent  names  which  have  made  the  early  part  of  this  cen 
tury  so  illustrious. 


THE  RECREATIONS  OF  CHRISTOPHER  NORTH, 

(Contributed  to  Blackwood's  Magazine.)  By  John  Wilson.  In 
one  volume,  octavo,  with  Portrait  of  «  Christopher  in  his  Shoot 
ing  Jacket."  Price,  in  muslin,  $1.25. 

The  fame  of  Wilson,  under  his  chosen  pseudonyme,  Christopher  North,  is  uni 
versal.  The  wonderful  vigor,  the  wit,  satire,  fun,  poetry,  and  criticism,  all 
eteeped  through  in  his  Tory  prejudices,  with  which  his  contributions  to  Black- 
wood  overflowed,  commanded  the  attention  of  all  parties,  and  have  left  a  deep  if 
not  a  permanent  impression  in  the  literature  of  the  age.  These  articles  are  full 
of  th(fcauthor's  peculiar  traits.  Humor  and  pathos  succeed  each  other  like  clouds 
and  sunshine  in  an  April  day.  The  character  of  the  Scottish  peasantry  in  some 
of  the  llecreations,  is  depicted  with  as  much  power  as  in  the  author's  famous 
"  Lights  and  Shadows  of  Scottish  Life." 


THE   MISCELLANEOUS  WORKS   OF   THE  RIGHT  HON,  SIR 
.    JAMES  MACKINTOSH, 

In  one  volume,  octavo,  with  Portrait.     Price,  in  muslin,  $2. 

This  edition  contains  all  the  miscellanies  of  the  author,  reprinted  from  tho  Lon 
don  edition  of  his  works.  The  topics  are  various,  from  literature  to  politics.  Tho 
Revolution  of  1688.  it  is  well  known,  had  engaged  much  of  the  author's  attention, 
and  his  articles  upon  that  subject  are  among  the  most  important  and  valuable  in 
tho  language. 


MISCELLANEOUS  ESSAYS, 

By  Archibald  Alison,  F.  R.  S.,  author  of  a  History  of  Europe 
during  the  French  Revolution.     In  one  volume,  octavo,  with 
Portrait.     Price,  in  muslin,  $1.25. 
Ibe  didtiuguiijhed  author  of  the  History  of  Europe,  in  a  series  of  critical  arti- 


PHILLIPS,  SAMPSON.  &  CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS. 

ties,  mostly  Tvpon  modern  historical,  subjects,  has  apparently  given  to  the  world 
many  of  the  studies  upon  which  his  great  work  is  based.  These  Essays  will  be 
read  with  profit  by  every  student  of  European  history. 


THE  CRITICAL   AND  MISCELLANEOUS  WRITINGS   OP 
THOMAS  NOON  TALFOURD, 

Author  of  "  Ion,"  a  Tragedy,  &c.,  with  a  Portrait,  and 

THE  CRITICAL  AND   MISCELLANEOUS  ESSAYS  OF  JAMES 
STEPHEN, 

In  one  volume,  octavo.     Price,  in  muslin,  $1.25. 

The  author  of  "  Ion  "  may  surely  claim  a  place  among  the  classic  writers  of 
Britain.  The  essays  here  collected,  though  lacking  the  force  and  splendor  of 
style  that  belongs  to  Maeaulay,  are  among  the  most  elegant  and  attractive  in  the 
language.  They  refer  generally  to  lighter  literary  topics,  instead  of  the  severe 
Bubjects  with  which  Mackintosh,  Alison,  or  Carlyle  choose  to  grapple. 

Mr.  Stephen,  also,  has  long  been  known  as  among  the  ablest  of  the  great  mod 
ern  essayists. 

THE  MODERN  BRITISH  ESSAYISTS, 

Comprising  the  eight  volumes  octavo  preceding.     Price,  in  mus 
lin,  $12;  in  sheep,  $16  ;  half  calf,  or  half  morocco,  $18. 


BIOGRAPHICAL  AND  CRITICAL  MISCELLANIES, 

By  W.  H.  Prescott.  With  a  finely  engraved  Portrait.  One 
volume,  8vo.  Price,  in  cloth,  $2  ;  in  sheep,  $2.50  ;  half  calf, 
or  hall'  antique,  $3  ;  full  calf,  or  antique,  $4. 

"  Mr.  Prescott  is  an  eleq^int  writer,  and  there  is  nothing  that  comes  from  his 
pen  that  does  not  strongly  bear  the  marks  of  originality.  The  present  volume 
contains  a  series  of  papers  on  different  subjects:  biography,  belles-lettres,  criti 
cism.  &c..  in  which  Mr.  Prescott  has  put  forward  some  beautiful  ideas  on  tho 
attributes  of  mind,  the  formation  of  character,  and  the  present  condition  of  vari 
ous  sections  of  society.  It  will  be  read  with  avidity  by  the  scholar  and  geiiural 
inquirer."  —  New  Orleans  Bulletin. 


PHILLIPS,  SAMPSON,  &  CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS. 

^S^S^-^^^N^N^V^N^^S^X^. 

MODERN  PILGRIMS  : 

Showing  the  Improvements  in  Travel,  and  the  newest  Methods 
of  reaching  the  Celestial  City.  By  George  Wood,  author  of 
"Peter  Schlemihl  in.  America."  In  two  volumes,  12mo. 
Price  $1.75. 

The  idea  of  this  work  was  suggested  to  the  author  by  the  inimitable  "  Celestial 
Railroad  "  of  Hawthorne.  But  in  the  application  of  the  idea  to  the  religious  so 
cieties  of  modern  times,  the  author  is  indebted  to  no  one.  It  is  a  continuous  story 
of  the  pilgrimage  of  some  cultivated  and  piously  disposed  people,  in  which  they 
visit  in  turn  various  cities,  castles,  and  hotels,  representing  the  leading  religious 
denominations.  But  no  description  can  do  the  work  justice.  It  is  full  of  trench 
ant  satire  upon  life,  manners,  and  opinions ;  and  at  the  same  time  it  has  much  of 
pathos,  which  cannot  but  awaken  sympathy. 

It  is  proper  to  add,  that  the  author  takes  the  same  standpoint  with  honest  John 
Bunyan. 

WOLFSDEN,    A  New  England  Novel, 

In  one  volume,  12mo.     Price  $1.25. 

Rural  life  in  New  England  was  never  more  graphically  painted.  And  such  is 
the  variety  of  incident  and  character  that  every  reader  will  enjoy  its  perusal  with 
a  hearty  relish.  It  is  as  unique  as  Tristram  Shandy. 

COLOMBA  ;  A  Novel  founded  upon  the  "  Vendetta," 

Translated  from  the  French  of  Prosper  Merim6e.  In  one  ele 
gant  IGmo.  volume.  Price  $1. 

A  story  of  Corsica,  of  intense  interest,  and  wholly  free  from  the  prevailing 
faults  of  French  novelists. 

BERENICE,    An  Autobiographical  Novel, 

In  one  volume,  12mo.     Price  $1.25. 

The  touching  fidelity  to  life  and  nature  which  characterizes  this  book  will  in 
duce  every  reader  to  suppose  it  to  be  a  veritable  history. 

EDITH  HALE,    A  New  England  Story, 

In  one  volume,  12mo.     Price  $1.25. 

The  conception  of  character,  and  the  general  conduct  of  the  story,  would  indi 
cate  a  feminine  author.  The  style  is  rirhly,  not  pedantically,  embroidered  with 
learned  allusions  and  illustrations,  and  there  are  traces  of  vigor  that  will  surprise 
the  reader  into  admiration. 


PHILLIPS,  SAMPSON,  A  CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS. 

^XN^V«^N^N^N^Nrf^^XX^^VVN^^>^N^^X 

THE  NEW  AGE  OF  GOLD  ; 

Or,  the  Life  and  Adventures  of  Robert  Dexter  Romaine.  Writ 
ten  by  himself.  In  one  volume,  12mo.  Price  $1.2,5. 

No  description  would  five  an  idea  of  this  work  without  spoiling  the  interest  of 
the  story.  Uut  it  pc-sscssi-s  extraordinary  merit,  both  in  the  plot,  which  is  novel, 
and  in  the  style,  which  is  singularly  aniimt-  1. 

ENGLISH  TRAITS, 

By  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson.     In  one  volume,  12mo.     Price  $1. 

The  many  admirers  of  Mr.  Emerson  will  welcome  this  long-expected  volume. 
The  work  has  not  grown  to  a  large  size  by  the  length  of  time  it  lias  been  ia 
preparation ;  revision  has  rather  winnowed  it.  The  publishers  confidently  expect 
that  this  will  be  the  most  widely  popular  of  the  author's  books. 

THE  EARNEST  MAN, 

A  Sketch  of  the  Character  and  Labors  of  ADOXIRAM  JUD- 
SON,  First  Missionary  to  Burmah.  By  Mrs.  H.  C.  Conant 
In  one  volume,  16mo.  Price  $1. 

To  meet  the  general  demand  for  a  Life  of  the  great  Missionary  in  a  more  popu 
lar  form  than  that  of  the  elaborate  work  of  President  Wayland,  this  volume  has 
been  prepared  with  the  approval  of  the  family  and  friends  of  the  lamented  sub- 
ject. 

CASTE  :    A  STORY  OF  REPUBLICAN  EQUALITY, 

By  Sydney  A.  Story,  Jr.    In  one  volume,  12mo.     Price  $1.25. 

The  title  would  lead  the  reader  to  infer  that  it  has  somewhat  to  do  with  the 
question  of  Slavery ;  and  such  is  the  case  —  its  tendencies  are  powerfully  against 
the  institution.  But  it  is,  nevertheless,  in  the  best  sense,  a  Novel,  and  not  mere 
ly  an  Anti-Slavery  tract  in  disguise.  The  characters  and  scenes  have  a  vividness 
which  only  genius  can  impart  to  ideal  creations ;  and  whoever  commences  the 
book  will  find  his  sympathies  so  strongly  enlisted,  that  he  will  be  compelled  to 
follow  the  fortunes  of  the  charming  heroine  to  the  conclusion. 

CASTE  is  not  a  "  sectional "  book.  Its  blows  fall  as  much  upon  Northern  as 
upon  Southern  society.  And  while  the  vast  majority  will  read  the  bock  for  tho 
intense  interest  of  the  story,  it  will  awaken  thinking  men  to  a  new  phase  of  the 
all-absorbing  question. 


THIS   BOOK   IS   DUE   ON   THE   LAST   DATE 
STAMPED   BELOW 


RENEWED   BOOKS  ARE  SUBJECT  TO   IMMEDIATE 
RECALL 


LIBRARY,  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  DAVIS 

Book  Slip-Series  458 


